


36 Views of Mt. Fuji: Summer

by Mithen



Series: 36 Views of Mt. Fuji [3]
Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Child Death, Cosplay, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Minor Character Death, Oral Sex, Romance, Sexual Harassment, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-02-04 07:34:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12766176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mithen/pseuds/Mithen
Summary: Clark and Bruce travel to Japan once more, this time to try and recruit the elusive superhero Jade Warrior to the Justice League.





	1. Chapter 1

_No different, really--_  
_a summer moth's_  
_visible burning_  
_and this body,_  
_transformed by love._  
_\--Izumi Shikibu_  
  
There was a neatly stacked pile of newspapers in one corner of the room.  On the small desk a man was going over hundreds of clippings.   Each were torn carefully from the newspapers--the man wasn't allowed scissors.  
  
Most of them were about Bruce Wayne, with special focus on his travels in Japan.  He paused to look at one of Wayne in January, standing in a crowd of people milling about in the aftermath of an attempted assassination.  Next to him was an awkward-looking man with heavy glasses.  The article explained that _American Clark Kent had been taken hostage briefly by the assassin and explained to police that the foreign hero Batman had come to his rescue._  
  
Another clipping from the next day:  Superman saving a window-washer in Tokyo, lifting him easily to safety while the crowd cheered. __  
  
Another, this one of Bruce Wayne introducing Superman at an environmental conference in the spring.  The billionaire's hands gripped the superhero's with a firm grasp, their eyes locked.  The smile on the alien's face was brilliant--the same brilliant smile he gave everyone in all of the clippings.   
  
Bruce Wayne's face...  
  
From two days later, a story about how Bruce Wayne had recently acquired Matsunaga Construction.  The billionaire was smiling blandly as Shigeru Matsunaga was accosted by police.  
  
Tucked in the corner, his tie askew, his smiling eyes fixed on Bruce Wayne, was Clark Kent.  
  
Kyodai Ken grunted quietly to himself and continued to thumb through the papers, looking for anything of further interest.  
  
****

* * *

**  
**It was a hot, oppressively humid night in Gotham.  The tide was low, and the air was full of the smell of the sea:  not salty or sweet as in the romantic cliches, but the real, briny, muddy scent of sea.  
  
Far above the docks, a lone figure hovered, out of sight, watching.  He grimaced slightly as damp air moved around him, making his costume cling just a bit too close to be comfortable.  
  
On the docks, a group of men was moving cases onto a ship, their motions furtive.  X-ray vision was unnecessary to guess the contents were less than licit.  
  
The figure made no motion.  Waiting.  He was listening to two heartbeats:  one fairly steady, the other racing.  
  
From the shadows stepped a young boy, no more than thirteen.  He was dressed in an implausibly garish costume, his smile brilliant under tousled black hair.  His heartbeat was probably faster than it should be.  The person floating above shifted position in the humid air but held steady.  
  
The thugs noticed the boy.  "What have we here?"  Guffaws.  "A little past your bedtime, boy!"  
  
"Can't leave yet."  The kid's voice was light, casual.  His heart was like a tiny machine, pounding.  "Batman told me to take out the garbage first."  
  
"Batman working with a kid?"  More laughter.  "Right.  Benny.  Plug him."  
  
One of the thugs pulled a gun.  
  
The steadier heartbeat in the shadows thudded abruptly, painfully, and the watcher in the air leaned forward...but the boy was already in the air, dancing.  A kick, and the man's gun was suddenly _elsewhere,_ a leap and the boy _elsewhere_ as well, too quick for anyone but perhaps the cautious presence in the sky to track.  Curses, flounderings, and the boy was joined by a dark form, black silk rippling, like a shadow cast by the bright child, following his moves.  Villains dropped left and right--the one who had pulled the gun on the boy fell a little harder than the rest--and soon they were trussed like turkeys, glaring impotently.   
  
The young man laughed, the sound strangely bright in the dark, dank Gotham night.  "Tell your buddies when you see them in prison--it's Batman and Robin now!"  He leaped and swung away like a bird.  His companion followed a moment after, after whispering something to the bound thugs which made them blanch.  
  
The watcher in the sky moved to keep up with them, tracking their movements, listening to the boy's grip on his line, to the air moving silk.  He watched as the duo stopped to investigate a burglary that required a great deal of scrupulous fingerprinting from the detective, watched as Robin leaned against a wall, as the adrenaline in his system ebbed away, as his breaths became slower.   
  
Batman turned to notice that his young charge was nodding off.  "Let's stop by the car.  You can wait for me there.  There shouldn't be much else tonight."  
  
The boy's eyes were sleepy.  "Sorry, it's just..." a huge yawn.  
  
Batman's voice held no reproach.  "It's your first night.  The excitement is catching up with you.  It's natural."  
  
Back at the car, Batman checked the security systems carefully.  "You'll be safe in here.  Call me if anyone tries to mess with it--although most people know better."  The boy was already curled up in the passenger seat, yawning.  Batman went to close the door, then stopped and reached out a dark hand to rumple the boy's hair.  "Good work tonight.  I'm proud of you."  The door closed quietly on Robin's happy face.  
  
In the sky, the watcher smiled to himself.  
  
A few minutes later, Batman was on a rooftop alone, the sticky night air rustling his cape.  He took up position on a gargoyle, looking down at his city.   
  
Without looking up, he said softly, "Thank you."  
  
A ripple of movement, and Superman was hovering in the air in front of him, his knee almost touching the gargoyle's mouth.  "You had everything under control.  You didn't really need me."  His smile took any possible rebuke from the words.  "But you're welcome."  
  
Batman scowled.  "Well.  Don't get in the habit of following us around just because I asked for a little backup tonight."  He shrugged as if dismissing the topic entirely.  "What news on the Truth and Justice League?"  
  
Superman cast a rather severe look at the unmoved vigilante.  "Among the Americans, Green Lantern and the Flash say they're in."  
  
"Of course."  
  
"Of course."  There was a smile in Kal's voice.  "Green Arrow is willing to be on reserve, if rather peeved about it.  Black Canary says she's willing as well.  That new guy, Captain Marvel, sounded delighted to even be put on reserve. I haven't heard back from a few others. As for the meta-civilizations, I still haven't heard from either Themyscira or Atlantis, and I'm leery of forcing a visit to either place."  
  
Batman grunted in annoyance at Kal's statement.  "On the foreign front, the Brazilian woman, Fire, has gotten in touch and is willing to be in the reserves.  And I got a two-word response from Constantine."  
  
"Let me guess:  'bugger off.'"  
  
"Actually, it was 'sod off,' but good guess."  Batman might have been hiding a smile behind one leather-clad hand.  "Still nothing from the hero in Turkey, Dervish, or from the Jade Warrior in Japan."  
  
"Damn.  Well, I've managed to get a little time off next week, I'll go to Japan and see if I can track the latter down."  
  
"I'll go with you," Batman said, abruptly enough to elicit a surprised frown from the Kryptonian.  "If he's going to prove elusive, you'll need a detective along."  
  
Superman pointed at his own chest.  "Investigative journalist, Batman."  
  
"You stick with charming him, I'll do the tracking.  Besides, I have a good cover story to get us there, that helps."  Batman looked rather annoyed for a second.  "Don't be so damn contrary, Kal."  
  
The Kryptonian executed an ornate bow in midair, head almost grazing the gargoyle.  "Your wish is my command, Dark Knight.  It would be my pleasure to have your scintillating company."  
  
"Hrn."  Batman's mouth was scowling, but the corner contained the possibility of a smile.  "Only you could be so damn polite in this kind of heat."  As if on cue, a bead of sweat slipped from beneath the cowl and trickled down his temple in the sultry air;  he grimaced and raised a hand to wipe it away, but Superman had already reached out without thinking and brushed it off.  Batman jerked backwards in surprise and there was an awkward silence.  
  
"Sorry," said Superman sheepishly.  "I just--" He let the sentence hang unfinished, since he had no idea how to finish it unmortified.  His fingertips were damp.  
  
"It's sweat, Kal.  Human beings perspire when they're hot or have exerted themselves."  
  
"I know what sweat is."  Clark tried for lofty and achieved only rather befuddled.   
  
Batman made a dismissive noise that seemed to categorize Superman as "alien:  motivations uncertain" and backed into the shadows.  "Contact me when you know your schedule," said a voice from the darkness, and he was gone.  
  
Superman lifted gently away from Gotham, checking briefly on the breathing and respiration of the young occupant of the car below to make sure they were steady and sound.   
  
Once he was safely far from Gotham, floating above the ocean, he held a hand before his face for a long, careful moment, examining the sheen of moisture on his fingertips.  Then he slowly, carefully, put his finger to his lips, savoring each tiny salt crystal, the scent and taste, sucking and licking until he had nearly exhausted the flavor.  He was panting slightly when he was done.  
  
It seemed like every time he saw Batman or Bruce--which was distressingly often in the last few months--he came away with some new detail to focus on in his fevered nighttime fantasies.  The way his eyelashes shadowed his cheeks, the curve of his ear, the feel of his breath on the back of Clark's neck, the sound of his laughter, the way twilight seemed to catch in his hair--every scrap of input seemed to fuel endless breathless scenarios in Clark's head.  He had discovered he could get off just replaying the sound of Batman sighing in exasperation in his mind, imagining that sound in his ear at just the right moment.  Never enough, it was never enough.  
  
His hand was in his mouth again, his other hand moving across overly-tight spandex.  He rolled over onto his back in the air, the blank sky above him, the empty sea below, groaning to himself, stroking.  He wasn't even going to make it back to his apartment this time.  Bruce's taste in his mouth, salt and warmth, in his mouth... _Bruce._  
  
Clark rolled back onto his stomach, staring at the dark water far below, catching his breath.  The sea breeze pulled at his hair, damp and humid.   
  
Somewhat belatedly, he realized he had agreed to go touring in Japan with Bruce Wayne again.  He closed his eyes and muttered imprecations to himself:  he should have rejected the offer (though it had seemed more like a demand), should have said he could handle this on his own.  He'd gotten so much practice at handling things on his own in the last few months, after all, he thought wryly.  Having to make small talk with his co-worker, having to hide this crazy, desperate crush from the greatest detective in the world...  
  
His brow was damp with moisture from the wet, salty sea air.  Clark dragged in a lungful of warm air.  He was a Kryptonian, an alien, he could bathe in the sun's corona without breaking a sweat.  
  
He could stay cool in a little summer heat.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark and Bruce arrive in Tokyo and find themselves without lodging. Unusual accommodations are found and an unusual conversation follows.

_  
The night is black  
And I am excited about you.  
My love climbs in me, and you ask  
That I should climb to the higher room.  
Things are hidden in a black night.  
Even the dream is black  
On the black-lacquered pillow,  
Even our talk is hidden.  
\--Anonymous geisha song  
_  
Bruce Wayne blinked groggily as he walked down the runway next to Clark Kent into Narita Airport in Tokyo.  There were precautions against jet lag, but no cure.  He had spent most of the flight with his eyes resolutely closed, trying to sleep.  He had hoped that by closing his eyes and shutting out the sight of Clark Kent he would be able to relax, but instead, somehow, the lack of visual cues had made him even more uncomfortably aware of Clark's body taking up space next to him.  
  
He was already overly aware.  
  
He had drifted off once only to wake with a jolt, finding his body sliding, leaning toward the other man's, head dangerously close to nestling on a broad shoulder.  
  
Bruce Wayne was not used to his body betraying him like this.  
  
He didn't get much sleep.  
  
And here he was, walking into Tokyo with Clark.  What had he been thinking, coming along on this trip?  He wasn't even going to allow himself to _flirt_ with the nice Kansas boy.  So even though Clark had meltingly beautiful blue eyes and a washboard stomach made for stroking and an ass that--well, best not to think too much about Clark's ass, Bruce thought hastily, hurrying to catch up from where he had involuntarily fallen behind the other man.  Anyway, even though Clark was delicious to look at, Bruce wasn't getting any of it, so why bother?  
  
An inner voice, alarmingly Alfredesque:  _Horror of horrors, could it be that you actually enjoy Clark Kent's company?_  
  
Bruce sighed and tried not to dwell on that too much.  
  
 ****

* * *

**  
**Clark watched Bruce argue with the hotel staff, then stomp back to where Clark stood waiting.  "Great.  Just great," he snapped.  "There's been some kind of mixup with the rooms, they don't have our reservations."  
  
Clark raised incredulous eyebrows.  "Bruce Wayne, the great and powerful, can't get hotel rooms?"  
  
"I suppose if I waved _enough_ money at them, they would turn some people out of bed for us, but that hardly seems ideal.  Well," Bruce said, squaring his shoulders and picking up his bag, "time to find alternative lodging."  
  
It was not apparently that easy.  After being turned away from three hotels, Bruce's mood was clearly frayed, and even Clark wasn't feeling terribly cheerful.  "We could try a capsule hotel," muttered Bruce.  
  
"Ah, you mean those hotels like a beehive with the coffin-sized rooms?"  Bruce nodded glumly.  "Um, no.  Please."  
  
"Agreed."  
  
"We just need a place to sleep.  I don't really care what it's like any more," Clark said in desperation, and saw a glint that could have been called "mischievous" in the other man's eyes.  
  
"All right then, follow me," said Bruce, and set off through the streets.    
  
They came to a building that rather resembled Cinderella's Castle in Disneyland, with a discreet side entrance off the main street.  "Hotel Stellate" was written in blue letters on the front.  Bruce slipped in and Clark followed.  
  
The lobby was sparse and totally empty.  There wasn't even a concierge desk, just an assortment of things that looked like vending machines.  Bruce was glaring at one of the vending machines, which had only one selection still lit.  "Figures," Clark heard him mutter as he jammed a few bills into the machine.  There was a _clonk_ and a key fell out of the machine.  Bruce snatched it up and stalked out of the lobby.  
  
The hotel was eerily silent, and Clark followed Bruce, glancing from side to side.  "Bruce?  What kind of hotel is this?"  
  
"You said you didn't care what kind of place I got us as long as it had a bed," Bruce said with something that sounded suspiciously like a snicker in his voice.  He unlocked a door and ushered Clark inside.  
  
The room was entirely done in red--walls, ceiling, floors.  In the middle of the room was a circular bed.  The bed was surrounded, improbably, by a cage, its red bars stretching between the floor and ceiling.  Various handcuffs were attached to the bars of the cage.  
  
"Uh, Bruce...?"  Clark let the statement trail off, too astonished to add to it.    
  
Bruce sighed and dumped his bags on the floor, adding a massive yawn.  "Love hotel, Clark.  Couples use them to get away from the family for a few hours or the night."  He shot a look at Clark as the other man's silence became increasingly awkward.  "Look, I'll sleep over on the chair there.  I swear I wouldn't lay a hand on you, but if it makes you uncomfortable--"  
  
"No, no," Clark protested.  He felt very uncomfortable indeed, but not because he was afraid Bruce might come on to him.  Hardly.  "We shared a bed on the cruise--"  
  
"--for about fifteen minutes before being mercifully interrupted by explosions--"  
  
"--it's no big deal, really."  Clark desperately hoped his actual response to the idea of sharing a bed with Bruce Wayne wasn't blindingly obvious.  He was rather afraid his face was like a blinking neon sign:  _This man is perfectly willing to have Bruce Wayne put the moves on him._   Bruce was the world's greatest detective, he could probably read Clark like a book.  
  
An amazingly, terribly dirty book.  
  
Fortunately, Bruce didn't seem that interested in reading Clark right now.  He was rummaging in his bag and came up with some pajamas and a toothbrush, then disappeared into the bathroom.  Clark took the opportunity to change hastily into his own pajamas and walk into the red-barred cage to sit down on the bed, staring at the manacles and such attached to it and feeling terribly silly.  
  
Bruce emerged from the bathroom.  "Your turn."  He blinked at Clark and for a brief moment a flash of abstract appreciation appeared on his face.  "Nice pajamas.  Very metrosexual.  Since when do you wear silk pajamas?"  
  
 _Since I found out we'd be traveling together_ didn't seem like a very wise answer, so Clark just shrugged.  "Maybe you convinced me with all that GQ stuff you spouted at me last time I was at the Manor."  
  
A snort of laughter as the bathroom door closed behind him.  Clark washed his face with very cold water and spent a long time staring at his dripping face in the mirror.  _You can do this.  Calm under pressure.  No problem.  
_  
He left the bathroom to find Bruce hovering halfway between the hard plastic chair and the bed, looking surprisingly uncertain of himself.  Clark didn't have to feign exhaustion as he waved at the bed.  "Really, Bruce, I'm too tired to care one way or the other."  Not technically true, but close enough.  Clark went into the cage and laid down on the bed--circular was not a convenient shape, and his legs slid off the edge a bit.  
  
Bruce followed him in and closed the cage door behind him.  It made a sharp _click_ and they both jumped a bit.  Bruce snickered and intoned:  " It's a cage match between the world's most powerful men.  Two men enter...one man leaves!"  He grabbed the bars of the cage and rattled them dramatically.  
  
Clark found himself laughing a little more than the joke warranted, but it seemed to lower the strange tension in the room somewhat.  Bruce joined him on the other side of the bed, throwing his arms above his head.  "I'm going to be asleep in about five seconds," he said through a massive yawn.  "Night, Clark."  
  
"Night, Bruce."  With no windows, the walls carefully soundproofed, the room became almost thick with silence.  Clark lay as still as possible, trying not to brush up against Bruce.  The silence fell across everything like static.  His eyes half-closed, Clark could see the cage circling the bed, and in a sudden, entirely unbidden flash had a vision of Bruce cuffed naked to those bars, face flushed, begging Clark to...to...  
  
Clark reminded himself brutally that Bruce, as a master escape artist, could easily get out of those feeble cuffs.    
  
If he wanted to.  
  
An hour went by.  
  
"Clark?"  Bruce's voice was almost a whisper.  "Are you asleep?"  
  
"No," Clark said more quickly than he meant to, banishing his fantasy-Bruce to a very hidden place.  
  
"Stupid jet lag," muttered Bruce.  
  
"This place is too quiet," complained Clark.  "It's weird.  This whole place is bizarre."  
  
Bruce chuckled.  "In a country this crowded, people need places to get away.  There's no places to go parking, after all."  A yawn.  "I mean, how do you and that reporter of yours find the space?  I can't imagine you whisk her to the Arctic every time, you can't take her to your apartment..." Bruce paused, ruminating, as Clark felt his face becoming hotter.  "Could you do it in midair?  The physics might be a little complicated..."  He slowly seemed to realize Clark wasn't responding and that the silence had become awkward.  "Clark? Aren't you and she...uh, seeing each other?"  
  
"Sort of."  Clark could tell his voice sounded somewhat tense and he tried to relax.  "But I'm...really busy, and...I'm pretty conservative and all, and..."  
  
"Well, but if not her, there've been other women you've...I mean..."  Some tension in the line of Clark's back must have triggered an intuition in the detective, and he blurted out, "Clark, are you a virgin?"  
  
 ****

* * *

**  
**Bruce wished he could kick himself the moment he said it.  Clark made an uncomfortable _harrumphing_ noise, his back still to Bruce.  "There's nothing shameful about being a virgin," the Kryptonian said stiffly.  
  
"Of course not!  It's just...I would have thought...being Superman and all...I mean, you're _Superman!"_   Bruce paused a moment to literally bite his own tongue;  he sounded incredulous in the extreme.  
  
Clark's voice was annoyed.  "I don't want to have sex with people as Superman!  And Clark's a dork no one would look twice at!  Plus, as previously noted, I'm _very busy_ when I'm not running around Japan with you."  
  
"In my book, blowjobs count as sex, so..." Bruce noted, trying to be helpful, part of his mind still making strange grinding noises like over-stressed machinery.  The silence, if anything, grew more uncomfortable.  "You--you haven't even--" Bruce sputtered.  "Then have you--"  
  
"--Look," Clark interrupted him, turning his face toward Bruce slightly, "What is this, Quiz the Kryptonian night?  Is there some purity test I'm required to fail before I'm allowed to recruit for the Justice League?  Let's skip the mortifying interrogation, then:  beyond some fully-clothed groping and kissing, I'm as virginal as they come.  There.  Happy?"  
  
Bruce wasn't exactly sure what he was, other than filled with a vast and boundless amazement, sliding inevitably into lustful envy:  somewhere out there in this world was the person who was going to be the first to touch Clark, the first to taste him, the first to--he tried to cut off his galloping thoughts, as well as his sudden desire to hunt down this nameless woman and break her kneecaps.  "Well, if we ever need a unicorn tamed, we'll know who to turn to," he said feebly.  
  
"Har har."  Clark didn't seem insulted, merely embarrassed and resigned, thank goodness.  There was a thoughtful pause in which Clark cleared his throat a couple of times before beginning again.  "So, obviously you're not..."  
  
Bruce laughed.  "The amatory arts are but one of the many skills the Dark Knight of Vengeance needed to master."  
  
"You...trained?  In sex?"  
  
"Of course!  The ability to pleasure a person skillfully is potentially as important as the ability to pick a lock, after all."  
  
Clark sounded dubious.  "And while undergoing this training, you..." The sentence hung unfinished, but Bruce could guess where it was going.  
  
"...figured out that I preferred being with men to being with women?  That's about right, yes."  
  
"Do you like to top or bottom?"  The question was blurted out, and Clark added defensively, "Well, I had to talk about my sex life, or lack of it.  I'm just curious."  His tone was studiously casual, and Bruce rolled his eyes, glad Clark's back was to him.  He knew this line of questioning:  the straight guy determined to prove how open-minded he was by talking about sex with his gay friend.  Well, Kent had no one to blame but himself if it made him uncomfortable.   
  
"Believe it or not, Clark, it's not always set in stone.  I happen to enjoy both."  
  
Clark's shoulders moved in the darkness as he took a deep breath.  "You can enjoy, uh, bottoming?  Isn't that kind of..."  Another awkward trailing-off.  
  
Bruce resisted the impulse to kick the other man and kept his tone level.  "For your information, being the receptive partner can be intensely pleasurable.  See, there's an organ called the prostate--"  
  
"--I know what a prostate is, Bruce."  Clark sounded both annoyed and flustered.  "Kryptonians have...something like one as well."  Bruce raised an eyebrow into the darkness but decided not to follow that line of questioning.  Clark continued, "It just seems...vulnerable."  
  
"The key is in knowing and understanding the other person.  Besides, it feels good."   
  
"What--what does it feel like?"  Clark's voice had lost the annoyance and sounded just flustered now, dropping to almost a whisper.  
  
For just a second, Bruce couldn't help but imagine _showing_ Clark instead of telling him, and had to struggle to keep his voice level.  "It's...hard to explain.  Like jolts of sensation.  A little uncomfortable at first, but then it kind of...shifts, like electricity.  When your partner gets the right rhythm, it's...well, you can come just from the feeling."  He backtracked hastily. "I mean the generic 'you,' of course, not specific."  
  
Clark had curled his legs up into a slightly tighter fetal position at Bruce's description.  "So you like both?"  His voice remained light and casual as if they were discussing the weather.  Bruce felt a stab of annoyance, a desire to get _some_ kind of reaction from the man, even if it were disgust.  Anything other than this deliberate indifference.  
  
"Sure," he said clinically, "but topping is a lot of fun as well.  There's something about the look on a man's face at the moment of penetration.  It's...naked, I guess is the best word.  Vulnerable, like you said, but not in a frightened way.  If there's trust, it's...it's an incredible look."  _Clark's eyes half-closed, white teeth biting into that perfect lower lip, hair tumbled across his forehead in disarray, Clark's eyes at that moment--_ Bruce yanked his attention back to reality.  
  
"Sounds interesting," Clark said, his voice tight and just a little too high.  Bruce grinned rather sadistically to himself.  Straight guys always got uncomfortable eventually.  Served him right.    
  
Time to twist the knife a bit.  "And then there's the sound your lover makes when you hit that spot for the first time--how the surprise shifts into enjoyment, into wanting more, needing it.  It's--"    
  
Clark's legs twitched slightly, and he sat up abruptly, away from Bruce.  "I'll be right back," he muttered, standing up.  He stepped forward and promptly walked square into the red bars.  "Oh," he said, groping around.  "Sorry.  Sorry.  Be right back."  The Kryptonian finally found the door in the cage and disappeared into the bathroom.  There was a sound of running water for a rather long time, as Bruce laid in the darkness and tried to calm down.  _Nice job, getting yourself all riled up and freaking out the farm boy.  He's probably battling nausea.  
  
_ With Clark's solid, distracting presence gone, Bruce could look at his reactions a little more clinically.  Clark's virginity, his untouched-- _and untouchable,_ he reminded himself--innocence, had rattled Bruce much more than he would have expected, and this annoyed him greatly.  It wasn't like him to make a fetish of virginity.  Bruce _liked_ his partners to know what they were doing, what they enjoyed, and to be relatively good at it.  It was more _fun.  
  
_ Somehow, his sexual reactions to Clark did not seem to revolve primarily around _having fun._   Bruce felt another pang of envy as he wondered who would be the woman who first got to bring Clark that kind of ecstasy, the first to watch his face as he abandoned himself to it, the first to feel his hands on her bare skin, to teach him both how to receive and to give pleasure...  Who would be the first woman to feel Clark enter her, to be _made his_ , the archaic phrase rich with possible meaning...  
  
Bruce twisted uncomfortably on the bed and tried to regulate his breathing.  His thoughts were refusing to stay clinical and analytical.  
  
This was why he generally preferred not to work on teams.  
  
Stupid Justice League.  
  
Stupid Clark Kent.  
  
Stupid--  
  
The bathroom door opened and Clark returned, stopping to carefully bend the bars of the cage back into place from where the impact of his body had twisted them.  The Kryptonian flopped onto the bed with a sigh, all the tension gone from his body.  "Mmmm," he mumbled as he tucked his legs up to match the circular shape of the bed, sounding ridiculously content and relaxed.  "Night, Bruce."    
  
He seemed to fall asleep almost instantly.  Well, at least he didn't seem offended by Bruce's overshare.  That was a relief.  
  
Bruce curled his legs to take full advantage of the little space available on the round bed and focused on regulating his breath.  To his annoyance, it fell nicely into the falling and rising rhythm of Clark's sleeping respiration, but it was too soothing to force out of it.  
  
As he felt some of the tension slowly leave his body, he reflected that from above, the two of them on the circular bed must look a little like a yin-yang symbol.  Light and dark curved around each other, meeting and yielding.  
  
Of course, in the true yin-yang symbol the light always had a little bit of the darkness inside it, and the darkness a little bit of the light.  
  
That was either a very deep or a very smutty thought, Bruce mused as he slipped into sleep.  
  
Or perhaps both.  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark and Bruce arrive in Hiroshima and settle in where they'll be staying. What? Separate rooms??

_Undisturbed,  
my garden fills   
with summer growth--  
how I wish for one  
who would push the deep grass aside.  
\--Izumi Shikibu  
_  
The bullet train pulled away from from Tokyo Station so smoothly that it looked like the platform was receding from the train.  Soon it was sliding steadily through the city on its way to Hiroshima.  
  
Bruce Wayne stretched his long legs in front of him.  "Much better than flying," he said.  He glanced over at Clark Kent, who was thumbing through a notebook filled with clippings.  The first clipping was of a newspaper article titled:  "Manga Come to Life Defends Hiroshima!"  The picture beneath the headline showed a gigantic warrior, apparently bio-mechanical, sheathed in emerald-green armor and battling a silver robot.    
  
Bruce knew the story by heart, of course.  An alien probe had landed in downtown Hiroshima, only to be confronted with an armored warrior apparently straight from a currently-popular manga:  _Bio Armor Jade Warrior_.  The two had battled, and the Jade Warrior had flung the probe into space and disappeared.  
  
"We don't know he's a good guy," Bruce felt compelled to point out again.  "He could just be highly territorial and not like alien probes poaching on his turf."  
  
"Ah, yes," nodded Clark.  "Goodness knows territoriality rules out heroism."  Bruce merely snorted and shook his head.  "No," continued Clark, "One of the stories interviews an bystander who claims that the Jade Warrior stopped and opened himself up to attack in order to shield her from flying debris.  He's all right, I can tell."  
  
"Might be a she," Bruce noted.    
  
"Okay, granted."  
  
Bruce tapped the notebook.  "What else have you got there?"  Clark flipped the page to reveal another newspaper clipping, from a few months ago:  "New Concept Industries Goes Public."  "What about it?"  
  
Clark made an abstracted noise.  "New Concept Industries, based in Hiroshima, is a new company specializing in retrieving and analyzing alien artifacts."  
  
"Ah."    
  
"Ah indeed," Clark echoed.  "Suffice to say I managed to convince Perry White that I should write a report on such an...intriguing business."  The smile he shot Bruce was slightly grim.  "And you?  You said you had connections in Hiroshima you needed to visit?"  
  
Bruce stopped as he was about to answer and instead pointed past Clark to the other side of the bullet train, his eyebrows raised.  Clark turned and saw Mount Fuji looming above the small towns flashing by, stately and framed by clouds.  Salarymen scrambled for their cell phones and there was a frenzy of clicking.  "You don't often get to see it during this commute," Bruce said, watching the calm symmetry of the mountain, floating in the clouds.  
  
"It looks so close," Clark said.  
  
Bruce snorted.  "It's further than it looks."  _Untouchable_.  "Anyway, I'm going to Hiroshima because WayneCorp is trying to establish a community dojo for Gotham teens and we'd like to have ties to a dojo here in Japan."  
  
Interest sparked from turquoise eyes.  "Really?  That sounds like a great idea."  
  
Bruce lifted his chin. "Of course really.  And of course it's a great idea."  
  
"Yours, I gather."  
  
Bruce didn't deign to reply.  "Yoru- _sensei_ has graciously written a letter of introduction for me to the Kouka Dojo.  The current _sensei_ of the dojo will be meeting us at the station and letting us stay there for the next few nights while we work out the details."  
  
Most of the route from Tokyo to Hiroshima was urban sprawl, unremarkable stretches of tangled power lines and squat beige buildings.  As the terrain grew more mountainous, the bullet train would speed through dark tunnels and emerge now and then, for a brief moment, into a valley between mountains, a small town nestled into it, glimpsed and then gone as the train rushed on.  
  
At Hiroshima Station, the two men negotiated the exits and emerged into the concrete maze of a city shimmering in the July heat.  As they did, a young woman in a black business suit approached them.  "Mr. Wayne?"  She held out her hand, a smile warming the rather severe lines of her face.  "I'm Tatsu Yamashiro, of the Kouka Dojo.  It's a pleasure to meet you."  
  
Bruce tried not to look surprised:  the character for Tatsu's first name could be read as either a man's or a woman's name, and female dojo-cho were rare--especially ones so young.  The hand that shook his was blunt and calloused, and there was an easy and economical grace to her movements that marked her, to the informed eye, as an excellent martial artist.  
  
"Welcome to Hiroshima," Tatsu said as she ushered them into a compact car and took off through the city streets.  They made small talk, and Bruce was relieved that her English was good enough for casual conversation;  it was always surprisingly draining to pretend not to know a language.  The dense cityscape slowly gave way to suburbs, lines of houses broken up with tiny rice paddies.  
  
"Yes, I inherited the family dojo when my mother and father died in a car accident a few years ago," their driver was explaining to Clark.  "It's been hard to keep it going, sometimes, but it seems I have things to teach that people wish to learn."  Her lips curved slightly at what could almost be taken for bragging in Japan.  She glanced into the rear-view mirror at Bruce Wayne.  "A partnership with an American dojo would be helpful indeed.  Yoru- _sensei_ was kind to suggest it."  
  
Bruce smiled easily.  "Kindness had little to do with it;  he said you were one of the best students he'd ever taught."  
  
The strict lines of Tatsu's face didn't change, but she seemed pleased as she turned the car up a gravel driveway.  "He said you were one of the most...surprising students he had ever taught."  
  
Bruce actually laughed out loud at that.  "It was polite of him not to specify in what way."  
  
The dojo was a relatively old structure, set into a grove of cedars.  The front door opened to reveal a young man, jovial where Tatsu was severe, balancing a toddler on each hip.  The two girls reached out to their mother as she approached, and she swung one of them away from her husband and into her arms.  "Mr. Bruce Wayne, Mr. Clark Kent, I'd like you to meet my husband, Maseo Yamashiro."  Maseo bowed politely to them, revealing long hair pulled into a ponytail.  "And these little ones," Tatsu continued, tickling the chortling baby in her arms, "are our daughters, Yuki and Reiko."  
  
"Please, come in," Maseo said politely, ushering them inside.  "You must be very tired and hungry from your long journey."  
  
The interior of the dojo was still and serene.  The halls were of some dark wood like walnut, giving way to tatami in the rooms.  "This is a beautiful place," Clark said appreciatively, and Maseo beamed.  
  
"Is it not?  Tatsu's parents were extraordinary people and they created an extraordinary dojo.  Tatsu and I only hope to continue their good work."  
  
As they made their way down the hall, they passed a display case filled with knick-knacks in a bewildering array:  a profusion of rather chintzy dolls, thimbles, figurines, posters, souvenirs and mementos.  Clark couldn't help but smile at the contrast between the somewhat tacky display and the serene elegance of the rest of the house, but Bruce Wayne stopped dead in his tracks, staring.  _  
  
"Jesus Christ,"_ Clark heard him whisper.    
  
"What is it, Mr. Wayne?" Tatsu asked politely, following his gaze to the case.  
  
"Those swords."  Bruce's voice was blank with astonishment.  "Those are--those are good swords."  He seemed to be struggling to stay in feckless playboy mode.  "Very...very pretty."  
  
Tatsu raised an eyebrow.  "You've studied Japanese swords?  Yoru- _sensei_ was right, you are suprising."  
  
"I was lucky to learn a little bit about swords from him."     
  
The woman frowned, looking at the swords. 

"Those are a Muramasa and a Masamune blade," Bruce managed, sounding a bit stifled.  "Why do you keep them in a display case next to a Hello Kitty bobblehead doll?"  
  
Tatsu smiled very slightly.  "Who would think to find them there?  It's the best security we can afford."  
  
"I'll get you better security!"  Bruce blurted.  
  
The woman continued down the hall.  "Father always claimed that there were magical wards on the dojo to keep them safe as well."  She shrugged as she slid open the door.  "But that was Father--always telling extravagant stories."  She nodded toward the room.  "This is your room, Mr. Wayne.  Mr. Kent's is the next door down."  
  
"Oh."  Clark felt rather crestfallen.  "We...each get our own room?  How thoughtful of you."  
  
Bruce moved into the room and put his bag down.  He still seemed to be somewhat in shock.  "I thought Muramasa swords were supposed to be really dangerous.  Wasn't he the crazy sword maker?"  
  
"Yes, Father used to tell me stories of the legendary cursed Muramasa blades, as well as the holy Masamune swords." She smiled fondly.  "Father loved his tales."  
  
"Stories like what?"  Clark asked, largely to cover for the fact that Bruce was sounding far too authoritative and far too alarmed about the sword.  
  
"Oh, my favorite was of the test between a Muramasa blade and a Masamune blade.  They put the swords in a river.  The Muramasa sword cut through everything that floated against it--leaves, grass, fish, frogs, the water itself.  The Masamune sword, on the other hand, cut nothing at all."  Tatsu's voice was slightly sing-song, retelling a tale she had heard many times.  "Muramasa laughed, thinking his victory was assured, but the monk they had asked to judge the swords bowed low to the Masamune sword.  When Muramasa demanded to know why, the monk said, 'Your sword cuts everything, but his is judicious.  Your sword destroys all it touches, indiscriminately and recklessly.  Masamune's is the superior sword, for it refuses to harm the innocent.'"   
  
"Other stories tell of Muramasa swords that can't be sheathed until they draw blood, or that possess their owner."  Bruce's face was shadowed.  
  
"Folk tales and superstitions," Tatsu said, sounding slightly tired.  "It is a well-made, valuable sword, and nothing more.  I am not a child, to be frightened by my father's wild tales."  She turned.  "Mr. Kent, your room is over here."  
  
Clark's room was sparse but attractive, with a spray of blue flowers in a bamboo vase on the wall to catch the eye.  Dusk was falling, and cicadas droned shrilly outside the house.  It was still very hot.  Tatsu bowed politely.  "I shall bring you some tea in a moment.  Please make yourself comfortable."  
  
The room was quiet and empty.  Clark brushed a hand along one beige wall.  On the other side of that wall...he resisted the temptation to use x-ray vision to check on Bruce.  He paced the room a couple of times.  
  
Nice room.  
  
Very quiet.  
  
Very empty.  
  
 ****

* * *

 **  
**Bruce had hardly finished unpacking his toiletries when there was a hesitant tapping on the door.  It slid open to reveal Clark Kent, looking large and awkward in stockinged feet.  "Mind if I come in for a second?"  
  
"Sure, sure."  Bruce hoped he sounded blase enough.  Clark sat down on the tatami.  "So tomorrow I'm talking to Tatsu while you go check out this New Concept Industries?  And we'll both keep an eye out for...the other thing we're here for."  Jade Warrior had appeared only a couple of times since his battle with the space probe, for major emergencies;  he didn't seem to be a helping-kittens-out-of-trees type of hero.  
  
Clark frowned and tapped the tatami thoughtfully.  "That sword really rattled you.  You don't really believe in magic swords, do you?"  
  
"Clark, by now I'd think you've seen enough to not write magic off so cavalierly."  
  
"You don't think _that_ sword is magic?"  
  
Bruce felt cornered.  "No...of course not.  I'm just not totally ruling it out, either."  
  
Clark laughed at Bruce's disgruntled look, but stopped as the door slid open.  Maseo stood there with a tray and two cups of iced tea.  "I'm sorry we don't have air conditioning here," he said lightly, making a face.  "You'll have to settle for cold tea."  
  
The tea was strong barley tea, astringent and refreshing.  They sipped in silence after Maseo left.  Bruce broke the quiet, shooting a glance at Clark.  "It must be nice to not feel the heat."  
  
"I can tell it's pretty bad," Clark said, noting the sheen of sweat on Bruce's brow.  
  
"It's not the heat, it's the humidity," Bruce said cheerfully, lying back on the tatami.  "Ah, it's not often I get to say something that banal and mean it."  
  
Clark smiled and pursed his lips slightly.  
  
The temperature in the room immediately dropped about ten degrees.  
  
Bruce sat up, feeling the sweat drying on him, the air cool and crisp.  "I forget I'm traveling with a living air conditioner," he said.  He looked curiously at Clark.  "I didn't know you had such fine control of your cold breath."  
  
"I can control it from anywhere between 'slightly cool' and 'liquid nitrogen,'" Clark said.  He exhaled again, softly, and Bruce felt a cold breeze lift the hair on the back of his neck, caressing his nape.  He shuddered, eyes sliding shut before he could help himself, then cleared his throat brusquely.  "That's probably enough.  Thanks."  He schooled his features to "cantankerous" rather than "lustful" before continuing.  "Of course, it's just going to get unbearably hot again soon enough."  
  
"I could stop by in the middle of the night and give you another blow if you wanted."  Clark's tone was so utterly guileless that Bruce decided to let the accidental innuendo go unremarked-on.  
  
"No, that's...fine, thanks.  But I appreciate the offer."  
  
Clark drained his iced tea and stood, bowing ironically.  "It's always open," he said lightly.  "Good night, Bruce."  
  
The room stayed cold longer than Bruce would have expected, but eventually the temperature crept back up toward sweltering.  The shrilling drone of the cicadas outside the window was like metal on metal.  He closed his eyes and imagined cool air touching his face, sliding across his bare skin, lifting his clothes gently to slip beneath the cloth, shivering caresses...  
  
It only made him feel hotter.  
  
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce and Clark watch their hosts practice martial arts and have a chance to spar a little themselves. Includes much contemplation of potential grappling moves.

_The cicada cries out  
Burning with love.  
The firefly burns  
With silent love.  
\--Anonymous  
_  
< Better, Kasumi! > Tatsu Yamashiro's voice was encouraging as her pupil caught her breath, doubled over.  < Work on your wrists, they're still too stiff, >  she added, brandishing her wooden kendo sword in front of her.    
  
Kasumi pulled off the heavy black padded helmet to let sweat drip onto the polished wooden floor as she bowed.  < Thank you, _sensei._ > she gasped.  
  
Bruce Wayne watched as Tatsu began to engage the next student in practice.  The moment he had watched her pick up the wooden sword, he had been unable to look away from her:  she was _good_ , better than almost anyone Bruce had ever seen in action.  Fluid and economical, her motions even during practice spoke of insanely fast reflexes and a centered fighting style that would give trouble to even the most accomplished martial artist.  Bruce found himself itching to spar with her, but he knew he couldn't give her a challenge without revealing he was far better-trained than a billionaire playboy should be.    
  
There was a gurgling sound next to him, perhaps an incipient wail, and Bruce turned his attention to one of the two toddlers he seemed to have found himself responsible for.  Reiko shook a wet, chubby fist at him and tried to jam it into his mouth;  he dodged that but let her yank on his ear.  Yuki had dropped off to sleep in the heat and her eyelids were fluttering slightly in a dream.  
  
Across the room, Maseo Yamashiro was training a young man in judo on a practice mat.  His ponytail bobbed as he walked his pupil through a hold.  Tatsu's husband was skilled and limber, confidence flowing from his motions.  
  
But he was nothing at all like Tatsu.  
  
As the husband and wife wrapped up with their respective pupils, Maseo called over to Tatsu.  "Are you up for a little sparring here with me?  Show Mr. Wayne a little more of your skill?"  
  
Tatsu's smile was slow, almost lazy, oddly intimate.  "Let me change into a gi," she said, moving to the changing room.  
  
Maseo sat down next to Bruce on the floor, extracting his guest's ear from his daughter's grip.  "Your wife is...amazing," Bruce said.  
  
"She is, yes," Maseo said comfortably.  "I trained under her father, although my first love was judo.  I knew I could never best her at kendo, but in the second year of high school she tried out for the boy's judo club.  I was the captain;  I thought I'd better go easy on her--the master's daughter and all, I didn't want to beat her _too_ badly.  She had me flat on my back in five seconds.   Ipponzeoi.  And then again in ten, and then again in twenty."  He laughed.  "But it was love at first fall, really."  
  
There was a voice at the door;  Clark Kent returning from his trip into town.  "We're in here," Maseo called, and in a moment Clark's form filled the door of the practice room.  He was frowning as he entered, but when he saw Bruce he smiled as if he couldn't help himself.    
  
"He wouldn't see me," the reporter said, sitting down next to the two men.  "Apparently Mr. Takata doesn't have time for reporters from the States."  
  
"Takata?  Yuchiro Takata, of New Concept Industries?"  Maseo sounded incredulous and at Clark's nod he let out a low whistle.  "Takata is an intensely private man, notorious for avoiding the limelight.  But he's also a genius.  He's reverse-engineered some amazing advances from the scraps of alien technology he's been able to unearth.  He's truly a ground-breaker, like your country's Bill Gates, or Lex Luthor."  Maseo didn't seem to notice Clark's stiffening at the second name.  "I wouldn't hold your breath waiting for him to talk to you!"  
  
The door slid open again and Tatsu emerged in a fresh white gi.  She smiled at Clark as Maseo rose to join her on the practice mat.  Reiko tried to crawl over to join them, but Clark tugged on one of her chubby legs and she gave up the pursuit.  
  
Tatsu and Maseo closed in a cautious flurry of grabs at sleeves, ending with each of them gripping the edges of each others' gi.  A welter of kicks and negotiated stances.  Tatsu had a fierce smile on her face, her eyes unwavering on her husband's.  They broke away and came back together as if pulled by a magnetic force, urgent and graceful, locked together in a shifting, swaying balance.  Beside him, Bruce heard Clark catch his breath at the sight, and he could hardly look away himself:  the rapport between the two was almost perfect, wordless and longing.   
  
Maseo finally made a small miscalculation and Tatsu took advantage in a move Bruce almost didn't catch.  In an instant, she had him pinned to the mat, legs twined around his and hands hard on his shoulders.  For a moment the two stared at each other, panting, and Bruce felt like he had intruded into something very private.  Then Tatsu glanced over at the two onlookers and rolled off her husband with fluid ease, pulling him to his feet.  
  
"What did I tell you?" said Maseo cheerfully as the two of them neared Bruce and Clark, "She's amazing, isn't she?"  
  
"That was..." Clark seemed to be weighing possible adjectives carefully and eventually went with "...exciting."  
  
Maseo chuckled as his wife looked flustered and pushed her sweat-damp hair back.  "Would you like to give it a try, Mr. Kent?"  Clark raised his eyebrows and pointed at himself.  "Sure, we've got some spare gi, I can give you some pointers."  Maseo beckoned to Bruce.  "I've heard you've trained a little in judo, Mr. Wayne.  Would you be willing to be Mr. Kent's sparring partner while I give him a bit of a lesson?"  
  
Bruce glanced at Clark, waiting for him to make some polite excuse and back out, but Clark was just looking at him, eyes bright as a blazing summer sky.  
  
It was asking for disaster to spar with Superman.  A terrible idea.  Absolutely terrible.  
  


* * *

  
Maseo took Clark's hands and put them on the collar of Bruce's gi.  "Just grab hold of his gi.  We'll skip the grappling and just do a little bit of footwork.  You too, Mr. Wayne."  
  
Bruce felt Clark's hands curling around the edges of his gi.  He reached out and did the same.  Clark's gi wasn't tied very well and far too much of his bare chest was showing.  Bruce sneaked a quick look at Tatsu and Maseo, sure that they must be noticing the man's torso was far too tight and muscular to be mortal.  It wasn't like anyone could possibly look away, right?  But Tatsu was dandling one of the twins and Maseo seemed to be focusing on Clark's eyes as he talked a little bit about judo basics.  
  
Clark nodded as Maseo talked, then reached out cautiously with one bare foot to knock against Bruce's as directed.  Bruce countered gently, feeling ankle-bone against ankle-bone for an instant.  Maseo was talking about balance and motion, but Bruce knew all that already so he found himself focusing more on the fact that now and then the backs of his fingers were brushing Clark's bare chest.  Smooth.  Like living china.  He managed to resist the temptation to spread his palms flat along the gleaming skin.  
  
Maseo stepped back.  "All right.  Bruce has studied this, so he's going to try to throw you now by kicking your feet out from under you.  You're the _uke_ , that means you don't fight back, you just receive the throw.  Just relax and go with the throw so you can see how it works."  To Bruce he said, "Try just a very basic _okuriashi harai,_ all right?"  
  
Bruce stared at Clark.  "You do realize," he said to the Kryptonian, who couldn't possibly be smirking, "that weight and size make no difference in judo?  It's all leverage."  _You are going to let me throw you, right?_   his eyes telegraphed at Clark, but the other man's expression was unreadable.  "They bigger they are, the harder they fall and all that."  
  
Clark shifted his grip on Bruce's gi, his hands slipping along the cloth so that the backs of his fingers slid across Bruce's chest, coming close enough to a nipple that Bruce almost pulled away.  "I'm ready to receive your throw, Bruce," Clark said.    
  
Bruce tightened his hands on the gi.  It was true, actually, that Clark's strength wouldn't help much against a judo throw, if he planned on resisting--which he probably wouldn't so as not to blow his cover.  If Bruce moved quickly enough, he might be able to sweep Clark's feet out from under him and get him to the mat.  Then it would be a fairly simple matter to get on top of him and pin him...a chance to have his body up against the other man's for a moment, to feel his hips against Clark's, knees between legs, a sensation to replay in his mind later...  
  
Bruce stared at Clark and seemed unable to actually execute the throw.  
  
The moment was broken by a knock at the door.  "I'll get it," said Maseo, and disappeared from the room.  A moment later they heard his voice, still cheerful but with an edge of strain suddenly running under it.  < Takeo!  Brother, what a ...surprise to see you here.  I don't think you've ever been inside the dojo. >  
  
Bruce saw Tatsu stiffen, her eyes going wary and cautious.  Another voice, like Maseo's but less carefree, echoed down the hall:  < Well, Tatsu's parents never saw fit to invite me over for some reason, even while I was courting their daughter. But it has been so long, and I thought I would like to see how my dear brother is doing with his dojo and his family. >  
  
< It has been a long time, yes, > said Maseo, sounding uncertain.  
  
After a short silence, Takeo said, < Are you not going to invite me in, brother? >  
  
< Oh, > said Maseo, < Of course.  Please, come in. >  
  
Tatsu put a hand to her mouth, then shook her head vigorously as if dismissing an unwelcome thought.    
  
Footsteps echoed down the hall and Maseo stood in the doorway with another man, his face much like Maseo's but his hair short and bristling.  Clark and Bruce scrambled to their feet as Maseo said, < We have American guests right now. >  He switched into English.  "Mr. Wayne, Mr. Kent, this is my brother, Takeo Yamashiro."  Clark held out his hand and Takeo ignored it to bow deeply;  Clark pulled his hand back quickly and bowed in return.  
  
< Takeo. >  Tatsu's voice was a bit faint.  < It's been a long time. >  
  
< Oh , > said Takeo with a small smile, < You are my sister now, are you not?  You must call me brother. >  His eyes on her were anything but brotherly, and Tatsu shuddered.  
  
"If you'll excuse me," she said quickly, "I must go change."  She stooped to gather up the twins and hurried toward the back room.  
  
Maseo seemed to have gained his equilibrium.  < Let me show you around, brother, > he said.  < This is our kendo practice room;  Tatsu let me put some mats in the corner and have some judo students as well.  I'll show you the rest of the house and the gardens. >  The two moved off, Maseo explaining the history of the house as they went.  
  
Bruce and Clark looked at each other.  "Yeah, me too," said Clark, and together they left the room to follow Maseo on the tour.  Takeo seemed friendly enough, but Bruce watched him sharply, noting that he was wearing a long-sleeved shirt in the blistering heat.  He kept his eyes on the cuffs, and when Takeo reached up to pick a flower from a tree in the garden, he stepped forward.  
  
"Maseo, could you ask your brother where he got his tattoo?  I saw the edges of it around his cuff and it looks really awesome!  Is it a dragon or what?"  
  
Maseo's eyes darted between Bruce and his brother.  Takeo's English was apparently good enough to give him the basics, because he edged backward away from Maseo.  Maseo stepped toward him, starting to speak:  < What is he-- > and Takeo lurched away into a run.    
  
Maseo jumped forward and grabbed him by the collar, ripping open the shirt to reveal an ornate dragon tattoo that spread across his brother's whole chest.  < Brother! > he gasped.  < I suspected, but I never-- >  
  
Takeo wrenched himself away and glared at his brother.  A gasp from the doorway made him whirl to meet eyes with Tatsu, staring at horror at his chest.  < The yakuza, Takeo...how could you? >  
  
The tattooed man threw his head back.  < I lost everything that ever mattered to me when you chose my brother, Tatsu!  What had I left to lose?  At least this way I have my honor! >  
  
Tatsu just shook her head, horrified.  Takeo stumbled backwards through the long grass, still staring at Tatsu, then turned and fled.  
  
"Should we call the police?"  Clark asked, but Maseo shook his head.  
  
"He's done nothing illegal--not on our property, and nothing we can prove, at least."  He met Tatsu's eyes.  "Don't worry, I'm sure it will be okay."  
  
Tatsu continued to look pale.  < No, > she muttered to herself, < That's a fairy tale.  It's not real. >  
  
< What is it? > Maseo asked.  
  
Tatsu shook her head and smiled a little.  < My father.  One of his tall tales was that the magic wards protecting the dojo prevented anyone uninvited from leaving with the swords.  He never let me invite anyone to enter.  But--but I'm just being silly. > She turned to Clark and Bruce.  "Please forgive me.  Won't you come in and have some tea?"  
  
Bruce remembered the way Takeo had paused outside the dojo until Maseo had invited him in, and felt an unbidden chill go down his spine.  But his thoughts were interrupted by Clark's cell phone ringing, the electronic sound making talk of yakuza and charms and cursed swords seem abruptly unreal.  "Hello?  Oh!  Yes, of course.  Of course!  What?"  His eyes darted to Bruce's for a moment.  "Well, sure, I'll ask him."  Holding the phone away from him, he said to Bruce, "It's New Concept Industries.  Takata's secretary.  He's agreed to see me this afternoon, on one condition."  
  
"What?"  
  
Clark looked mystified.  "That I bring you along with me."  He shrugged and smiled slightly.  "Looks like the sparring practice will have to wait for later."  He moved to leave the garden, his voice floating back:  "And I was so looking forward to seeing if you could throw me."     
  
His tone was slightly mocking, but Bruce couldn't tell exactly who was being mocked.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce and Clark meet with Takata and have an ambiguous talk;  Superman and Batman meet Jade Warrior and have an ambiguous non-talk.

_The nightingale_  
 _Climbing a bamboo stem_  
 _sings his love at every knot_  
 _at every knot of it._  
 _\--Anonymous geisha song_  
  
Clark Kent tugged at his tie and patted at his suit.  "Do I look okay?"  
  
"No, you do not."  Bruce Wayne reached over and smoothed some of the wrinkles from Clark's navy-blue suit, removing bits of lint from the shoulders with deft hands.  Clark stood stock-still and tried not to show any untoward reaction to having those skilled hands adjusting his clothing.  Bruce finished his quick makeover by straightening the crooked knot in Clark's tie, his fingers brushing against Clark's Adam's apple for just a second.   
  
If he was so damn invulnerable, why did he feel like that feather-light touch would leave marks he would be able to see later?  
  
"Turn around."  A hand on his shoulder spun him 180 degrees and Bruce's other hand smoothed the fabric at the small of his back.  "How _do_ you get so wrinkled so fast?"  Clark was pivoted again to find himself face-to-face with Bruce once more.  "There.  You look nearly presentable now," the other man said with some satisfaction.  
  
"Bruce."  Clark couldn't help smiling;  he looked so pleased with his work.  "I meant did I look correctly rumpled and unkempt.  I'm not _supposed_ to look particularly presentable, right?"  
  
Dark-winged eyebrows shot upward in amused annoyance.  "Well, in that case..."  Bruce hooked his fingers into the exquisitely tight and proper knot and worried at it until it loosened and went lopsided.  His motions this time were brusque instead of precise, which seemed to result in a lot more finger-throat contact.  Then he ran his hands across Clark's shoulders and arms to wrinkle the fabric as much as possible, finishing by brushing his fingers across Clark's hair, disarranging the part.  "There.  You look properly disheveled now."  
  
Clark certainly _felt_ disheveled, albeit _im_ properly.  He gestured toward the heavy oaken door in front of them to cover up his mental disarray.  "Shall we?"  
  
"After you."  
  
The brass nameplate gleamed as Clark pushed the door open:  Yuchiro Takata.　　  
  
Behind the desk sat a slender man, about forty years old, with dark hair brushed severely back from his forehead.  He looked up as the door opened and smiled, standing up to extend his hand.  "Mr. Kent.  Mr. Wayne.  It's a pleasure to meet you both.  Please, won't you have a seat?"  He waved them into two leather chairs in front of the desk;  a secretary appeared to pour them both cups of strong green tea.  Taketa sat back down and steepled his hands.  The sunset through the windows behind him cast blood-red rays across his mahogany desk.  Takata smiled.  "You wished to interview me, Mr. Kent?"  His English was fluent, if somewhat stilted.  
  
"Oh, yes, of course," said Clark, pulling out his notebook and pencil.  "So...how does it feel to be one of the most successful young businessmen in Japan?"  
  
Takata sipped at his tea for a moment before answering.  "I am pleased to have been able to give a little back to society."  
  
Clark glanced down at his notebook.  "Your company's analysis of alien artifacts has led to over two thousand new patents since it was founded two years ago.  That's an impressive record.  Is there so much alien stuff around to use?"  
  
"Even a very small piece of alien technology can unlock hundreds of patents.  You should know that, as your own Mr. Luthor has become a leading patent-holder in your country."  
  
"Speaking of Mr. Luthor, is it true that you're in negotiations with him to acquire Kryptonian technology?"  
  
"We were in negotiations for some time, yes."  Takata tilted his head to the side.  "But nothing came of it.  He is...zealous about his alien's artifacts."  
  
Clark tried not to wince at Takata's continued use of the possessives.  "Doesn't it strike you as ethically wrong to use material from other cultures to make money?  Isn't it rather like grave robbing?"  
  
The corners of Takata's eyes crinkled.  "More like...picking the trash, I would say.  And if that can lead to inventions that help the people, I am happy to be a...rag-picker for humanity."  
  
Clark jotted a few notes.  "Which invention of yours are you most proud of?"  
  
Takata looked thoughtful.  "It hasn't been officially patented yet, but some of the debris salvaged from the Antares probe looks likely to yield a cure to major spinal cord injuries.  If that works, I will be most proud of that."  
  
"The Antares probe--isn't that the spaceship that Jade Warrior battled?"  Clark jumped at a chance to potentially get information about the real reason they were in Japan.  
  
Takata tapped two of his steepled fingers together.  "Yes.  We could salvage very little, but what we could is very promising indeed."  
  
"I'd really love to interview Jade Warrior while I'm here."  Clark allowed his eagerness to show in his tone, and Takata smiled slightly.  
  
"It would be...what is the expression...'A major scoop,' I suppose?"  At Clark's nod, Takata continued.  "One of the better places to find out more about him might be at the local superhero cafe.  There are always many people there who track heroes, and naturally they keep a close eye on Jade Warrior's movements."  
  
Clark frowned.  "Superhero cafe?  What's that?"  
  
"You've heard of maid cafes?"  
  
Clark tried not to look too embarrassed.  "Those cafes where girls dress up in frilly French costumes and serve tea and coffee?  Sure, what connection--oh, no."  Takata had a glint in his eyes that could almost have been mischievous.  "They have cafes were people dress up like superheroes for that?"  
  
"Of course they do."  Beside him, Clark heard Bruce stifling a snicker, and resisted an urge to turn and glare at him.  "Tea and coffee and sometimes more."  
  
"I suppose I can see the appeal of being served coffee by someone like Black Canary."  
  
A bushy eyebrow lifted.  "Actually, there are relatively few female superheros, so the superhero cafe caters to a...slightly different clientele."  
  
Clark could sense more mirth from the man sitting next to him.  He was beginning to feel he was a few steps behind the rest of the conversation.  "So women go there to be served--and flirted with--by men dressed dressed up as superheroes?"  
  
"Closer.  You have everything correct except the gender of the customers."  
  
Illumination.  "Oh!" Clark yelped. "Um, I guess that's not a surprise, I mean, Superheroes are good-looking guys, I can see why some men might, uh--" _For God's sake, shut up, Clark,_ he thought fiercely to himself.  "Right," he finished lamely, careful not to look at Bruce.  
  
Takata was watching Clark as if his babblings were perfectly intelligible.  "I happen to know one of the owners of this particular cafe.  Shall I talk to him and see if you may come and talk with the customers about Jade Warrior's possible whereabouts?  Some of the more enthusiastic fans, or _otaku,_ are surprisingly good at gathering information."  
  
"Yes, that would be...very kind of you, if you would check with him."  Clark was still trying to get his mind around the idea of a cafe where men dressed up as, say...the Flash...would serve other men coffee and some flirtation.  Someone dressed up as--maybe Green Lantern?--posing for other men to look at and admire.  Were there servers dressed as--  
  
Clark's mind ground to a halt and refused to go any further for his own sanity.  He couldn't tell if he hoped Takata would get him permission or not.  
  
Takata's gaze slipped from Clark's face to the man beside him as if he could tell Clark needed time to collect himself.  "Perhaps you're wondering why I asked you to come along, Mr. Wayne," he said.   
  
"I'll admit to being curious," Bruce said easily.  
  
"I learned you were traveling with Mr. Kent and I decided I wished to meet you as well, because--well."  Takata rose from his desk and moved to the other side.  "Would you two gentlemen be willing to walk with me for a moment?"  
  
Takata led the other two men across a bridge and into the Hiroshima Peace Park, its concrete monuments shimmering in the heat of the late-afternoon sun.  Takata walked slowly through the park, pausing silently to look at some of the statues and monuments:  the statue of the young girl who had died of leukemia years after the bombing, her statue heaped with origami cranes;  the cenotaph for the Korean laborers who perished;  the massive metal bell with its beam-like wooden striker.  The Japanese man said nothing, and Clark and Bruce kept silent as well, reading the English plaques and thinking their own thoughts.  
  
As the sun was setting, Takata leaned against a rail and looked between the willows across the river.  On the other side were the preserved ruins of the building that had been the epicenter of the blast, its formerly-domed roof a skeletal structure against the red-lit sky.  Takata held still as if he were listening carefully to something the other two men couldn't hear.  After a while he said, "You may know that I am in discussions with Lex Luthor to work together.  I have read of your dealings with Asaka Matsunaga, and I believe I would prefer, perhaps, to work with you."  The Japanese man's eyes were grave as he looked at Bruce.  "My company works with alien technology.  It is difficult work.  The temptation to destroy rather than understand something alien is very strong."  He nodded across the water to the gutted building, bleak against the sun.  "Is it not human nature?"  
  
"No," said Clark quickly.  
  
Takata didn't turn to him.  "I was asking Mr. Wayne, not you, Mr. Kent," he said.  His voice remained measured and unruffled.  
  
Bruce frowned.  It was tempting to play callow, but access to Takata's artifacts would be incredibly helpful.  
  
It was also, he knew, a good question.  
  
"It might be part of human nature, to attack what we feel is different from us," he said slowly, ignoring Clark's sound of protest.  "But it is also human nature to regret, to mourn those decisions."  He swallowed.  "Humans can learn to...to cherish that which we used to distrust or fear."  
  
Takata's eyes on him were solemn, and Bruce suddenly had the impression that the man was older than he looked.  "That is an honest answer," he said, "and I thank you for it."  He moved away from the railing.  "Give me some time to think.  Perhaps it may be possible for us to work together."  
  
Bruce bowed deeply.  "Thank you for considering it."  
  
Takata turned to Clark.  "I will let you know if my friend at the cafe gets in touch with me."  He hesitated a moment.  "Would the two of you, perhaps, care to join me tomorrow evening?  It is Tanabata, a festival I greatly enjoy."  
  
Clark shot Bruce a glance and caught his slight nod.  "We'd love to.  We have no definite plans that evening."  
  
Takata nodded again.  "I shall have a car pick you up at six o'clock, then."  He bowed one more time, then walked away through the park.  
  
Clark looked after him.  "I came here to interview him, but it seemed more like he was interviewing you."  
  
"Access to that alien tech would be...it would be huge, Clark.  Think of what it might mean to the League."  
  
A flash of surprise went across Clark's face.  "Putting considerations of the League before your personal plans, Bruce?  That's not like you."  
  
"I didn't say they came _first,_ " Bruce grumbled.  "I merely mentioned what I knew you would want to hear."  
  
Clark laughed a little as they moved through the park.  "And now it's time for a little reconnoitering, I think."  
  
As the sun slipped beneath the horizon and twilight engulfed Hiroshima, Superman slid between buildings as workers stopped to stare from the glassed windows.  A couple of streets over, he could catch glimpses of Batman's dark shape swooping along;  sometimes the real thing, sometimes a reflection in the skyscraper windows.  Superman scanned the city, getting used to the layout, noting the landmarks.  Cities had a totally different feel from the air than from the ground, you had to approach them in an entirely different way.   
  
Superman looped around a building and was moving to intercept with Batman's trajectory when he heard the distinct noise of gunfire nearby, all the more notable because guns were so strictly controlled in Japan.  Batman was already dropping down toward the source of the sound.  As Superman swooped next to him a streak of glittering green passed both of them, and Superman recognized the form of Jade Warrior from his clippings.   
  
The three of them landed simultaneously in the middle of what appeared to be a pitched gunfight between two yakuza gangs.  The gangsters gaped at the sight of three superheroes in the middle of the street and started barking orders to fall back.  Superman saw Jade Warrior felling thugs left and right with powerful punches, while Batman took down fleeing people with neatly placed batarangs.  
  
In the midst of the confusion, Superman found himself tying one of the group leaders up with a lamp-post and abruptly recognized the face:  Maseo's brother, Takeo.  Takeo spat imprecations in Japanese at the alien which were music to Superman's ears.  Behind him, he heard Batman bark a warning and turned to see the vigilante shoving the emerald-armored warrior out of the way of gunfire, disarming the assailant with another batarang and leaving him vulnerable to the Jade Warrior's punch.  
  
A sudden silence, broken only by the snarls of the trussed yakuza, fell on the street.  The Japanese hero--who looked like a green, living manga character--stared at the other two without speaking, then suddenly lifted into the air, almost as if startled.  
  
< Wait!  We'd like to talk to you, > Superman said quickly in Japanese.  < We wish to build a league of heroes.  Would you consider joining us? >  
  
Jade Warrior hung in the air, unspeaking.  < Your fight against the Antares probe was very impressive, > Superman said, feeling somewhat awkward.  < We believe you would be a valuable addition to the team. >  
  
The glittering warrior cocked its head at them, the move oddly fluid.  Superman moved forward slightly, and the other hero was suddenly gone with no warning.  
  
Superman turned to his black-clad companion.  "Don't help out or anything," he said sarcastically.  
  
Batman grunted absently.  "You're the talker.  I was watching him."  
  
"Conclusions?"  
  
"Not many.  He can change his size--he was giant-sized when fighting the probe last month, but normal-sized tonight.  Flight, superspeed, maybe some kind of teleportation.  Can't tell if he's magic or science based yet."  Batman sounded frustrated.  "We need more information."  
  
"Why won't he talk to us?"  Clark's voice was just a touch hurt, which made Batman smile a bit.  
  
"Maybe he's shy."  
  
"Shy?"  Superman's cape licked around his calves in the hot summer breeze as he raised an eyebrow.  "Someone that powerful, shy?  That's ridiculous."  
  
"Power has nothing to do with it," Batman said, sounding amused.  He shot a grapple and prepared to leap.  "Besides, I find shyness rather charming," he said before launching himself forward.  
  
Superman followed behind more slowly.  "You do?"  he said, mostly to himself.  


* * *

  
Maseo and Tatsu were cooking dinner when Clark and Bruce returned to the dojo.  They insisted on sharing dinner with their guests, listening to their account of the visit to New Concept Industries.  Maseo raised his eyebrows when Clark said they'd been invited to Tanabata the next day.  "You must have made quite an impression on him," he said.  
  
"I'll have to loan you two a couple of dress yukata," Tatsu said, placing chilled noodles with cucumber and ham on the table in front of them.   
  
Clark wanted to tell her that Takeo had been arrested earlier, but he had no reasonable way of knowing it, so he held his peace and swallowed a mouthful of soy-flavored noodles.  "Thank you, but I think I'd look kind of ridiculous in a yukata."  
  
"No more ridiculous than in a gi or a kimono," snorted Bruce, "and you've worn both of those."  He flashed a smile at Tatsu.  "I'd be honored to wear a yukata you loaned me," he said cheerfully, leaving Clark little choice but to accept in turn.  
  
Later, Clark stopped by Bruce's room again as the cicadas shrilled outside.  A tiny glass bell was tinkling gently in the window.  "Well, at least we met him," Clark said.  
  
Bruce finished laying out his futon and flopped down onto it.  "We're making more progress with Takata and the Yamashiros than Jade Warrior.  I have to admit, Clark, the idea of a partnership with New Concept--it would make this whole trip worth it, even if nothing at all comes of Jade Warrior."  
  
"Oh, and here I thought getting to spend time with me would make it all worth it," Clark said lightly.  He wanted to kick himself as soon as he said it, but Bruce rolled over onto his side and propped himself up on an elbow, studying Clark intently.   
  
"Spending time with you isn't the worst part of this trip," he said magnanimously after a while.  
  
"Oh, thanks so much," said Clark, relieved that Bruce was willing to take it as a joke.  
  
Bruce dropped back onto the futon.  "The worst part is the damn _heat,"_ he snarled.   
  
"I thought you trained to endure all temperature extremes?"  
  
"Doesn't mean I have to like it," Bruce said a bit sullenly.  There was a pause.  "I don't suppose you could, you know, cool things down here a little?" Bruce asked grudgingly.  
  
Clark smiled and directed a stream of icy air toward the windchime, setting it chiming glassily.  Feathers of frosted condensation spread across the window, and the temperature plummeted.  Bruce sighed with such contented relish that Clark nearly shuddered, mentally storing the sound away for later.  "Better?"  
  
"Much," said Bruce.  "...Thank you."  
  
"My pleasure.  I have a 'heat' setting as well."  _Nice, Clark.  Very suave, you idiot._   Clark tried to look as if he had no idea at all that could be taken any other way.  
  
Bruce yawned, apparently missing the innuendo.  "Just gets hot again here in an hour," he muttered.  He flashed a look at Clark.  "Why don't you stay here tonight and keep the room cool?  I'll sleep better, and I'm less cranky when I sleep better."  
  
Clark blinked for a moment before recovering himself.  "I gather you've never gotten a good night's sleep since I've met you, then?  It might be worth it just to see what you're like sweet-tempered."  
  
Bruce was already pulling an extra futon out of the closet and dropping it on the straw matting.  "I warn you, a sweet-tempered Bruce Wayne is one of the signs of the Apocalypse."  
  
"Ah, but Gotterdammerung would be worth it," said Clark, settling onto the futon.  
  
"You charmer," Bruce said, lobbing Clark's pillow toward him.   
  
Clark caught it out of the air and briefly considered a return volley, but the idea of a pillow fight was too alarming to contemplate.  It did make him remember their aborted sparring match of earlier in the day, however, and after a moment he said, "You know, I'd like it if you'd teach me some judo."  
  
"Huh?"  Bruce sounded sleepy already.  "Why would you need to know that?"  
  
"I've lost my powers before.  I'd like to be able to defend myself if I find myself without them.  Plus, when I fight someone powered like I am, I can't always rely on brute strength.  Technique might make a difference then."  
  
Bruce seemed to consider.  "That makes sense.  Might work," he said drowsily.  
  
Clark looked over at Bruce's face in the darkness, his eyes closed.  "You might get a chance to throw me after all."  
  
Bruce's lips curved slightly.  "Sounds nice," the other man muttered, clearly half-asleep.  
  
Clark listened to Bruce's breathing, sneaking glances at his sleeping face.  When it got a little too hot, he cooled the room down again, indulging himself by letting his breath stir Bruce's dark hair.  Bruce murmured something, tossing his head slightly on the pillow and smiling again as if he were dreaming of something pleasant.  He rolled over and nuzzled his face into the pillow as if against someone's neck, his jawline relaxed and his mouth parted just slightly.  
  
Clark watched him.  
  
He decided he might not mind the end of the world arriving if Bruce would smile at him that way during it.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tanabata celebrations:  wishes made and fireworks watched under the Milky Way

_Midnight uncalm shadows_  
 _Creaking the willow._  
 _I am afraid._  
 _This firefly_  
 _That has come to rest on my sleeve._  
 _How strange it is,_  
 _How strange it all is._  
 _\--Anonymous geisha song  
  
_ Tatsu Yamashiro finished adjusting Clark Kent's yellow sash.  "I think you look quite dignified," she said, not quite laughing.  
  
Clark brushed ineffectually at the white cotton cloth patterned with blue dragonflies, trying to get the edges of the yukata lined up correctly.  He glared impotently as Bruce moved gracefully into the entranceway and slipped on his wooden clogs.  His striped yukata was crisp and perfectly adjusted;  he didn't look the least bit out of place, as Clark floundered to the door past him.  
  
Takata's car pulled up and Bruce and Clark got inside as Tatsu and Maseo waved and then bowed goodbye.  The driver was silent as the car drove away;  he didn't seem to speak English and the two Americans weren't supposed to know much Japanese, so the ride was uncomfortably quiet.  
  
Yuchiro Takata bowed low to the two of them as they emerged from the car at the entrance of a park.  He was wearing a dark gray yukata with a green sash.  "Shuffle, Mr. Kent," he advised as the trio began to walk into the park, noting Clark's tendency to _clomp_.  "The goal is to glide."  
  
"Glide, glide," muttered Clark, wishing he could hover just a little.  
  
It was dusk, and the sky was shifting from red into lilac and purple.  The sides of the path the three were walking were lined with bunches of colorful streamers, stirring very slightly in the breeze.  Takata looked up at the full moon and smiled slightly.  "It looks like it will be a clear night.  That is good."  
  
Clark dodged a group of small girls in bright yukata, ribbons in their hair, running and laughing.  "Why is that?"   
  
"Tanabata is a night dedicated to a god and goddess, the Herder and the Weaver, symbolized by two stars on far ends of the sky.  They love each other, but only one night a year are they allowed to meet, crossing the river of stars that is the Milky Way to be together.  If it is cloudy, they cannot meet this year and must wait another twelve months."  
  
"One night a year..."  Clark looked up at the clear sky.  "Well,　I suppose you take what you can get."  
  
A stall nearby was selling strips of colored paper;  children were writing messages on them.  Bruce tugged Clark over and bought the three strips.  "They're for making wishes," he said.  "Write what you want and maybe it'll come true."  
  
Clark stared at the innocuous piece of paper.  There didn't seem to be any way to write, "I really wish I had the courage to kiss Bruce Wayne."  And it probably wouldn't be a good idea to write, "I wish I could find out what Bruce would be like in bed, how his mouth would feel on mine, his hands on my body pulling me close, touching me, doing things to me that I can't even seem to imagine."  
  
For starters, that was probably too long to fit on the streamer.  
  
After long thought, he wrote, "I wish for happiness for everyone I--"  The pen hovered a moment;  he made himself write it, "--love."  
  
It was vague enough.  It could apply to just about everyone.  
  
Takata was pinching the bridge of his nose.   < I wish I could get rid of this headache, > he muttered to himself wryly, then wrote in clear, concise Japanese, < I wish for success in all endeavors for myself and possible friends. >  
  
"Nice," said Bruce's voice as he looked over at Clark's paper.  "Perhaps a bit simple, but nice."  
  
"Oh?" Clark said a little defensively, "What did you write?"  He glanced over to see written on the streamer in a graceful hand:  
  
_On a night_  
when the moon  
shines as brightly as this,  
the unspoken thoughts  
of even the most discreet heart might be seen.  
  
Bruce shrugged.  "It's traditional to write poetry.  My poor skills weren't up to it, so I stole from Izumi Shikibu."  
  
Takata's eyebrows were raised.  "I'm impressed."  
  
"Is that really a wish?"  Clark asked.  
  
Bruce attached his streamer and started to walk away.  "It depends on how you look at it, I suppose."

* * *

  
Takata led the two men to a white cloth laid on the ground under a willow tree.  "I reserved us this place for the fireworks.  Please, have a seat.  I shall fetch you something to eat.  No, it is my treat," he said quickly as Bruce seemed ready to offer to pay.  
  
Bruce sat down with his legs tucked under him and watched as Clark struggled to sit gracefully, trying to mimic Bruce's position.  "I've seen you in action, Clark, I know you're more coordinated than that," Bruce finally noted in exasperation.  
  
Clark shoved his glasses up on his nose, looking both peeved and amused.  "It's hard to explain.  When I'm on unfamiliar ground, it can be really difficult to adjust sometimes.  I don't know the right way to _move_ in these clothes.  They feel like they're going to fall open at any moment and leave me flashing the crowd," he grumbled.  
  
Bruce had a sudden image of Superman floating above the crowd with his yukata open in the breeze, stark naked.  "Um, you aren't going commando underneath that, right?"  
  
"Don't worry," Clark laughed.  "It would merely be embarrassing,　not obscene."  
  
"Obscene" was not precisely the word Bruce would have used to describe his mental image, but he didn't argue the point.  He wanted to ask Clark about his impressions of Takata, but the man was returning already, holding three cups of shaved ice covered with red syrup.  
  
Bruce took a bite of the ice, feeling it melting on his tongue, enjoying the cool.  Then he looked over at Clark and almost dropped his cup in horror.  "Clark, for crying out loud!"  he hissed.  
  
Clark looked at him, puzzled.  "What?"  He had casually crossed his legs to sit Indian-style and didn't seem to notice that the light yukata had ridden well up his legs.  Takata looked amused as Bruce shooed Clark to tug his robe back down.  
  
"What?"  Clark grumbled.  "It's nothing that couldn't be seen if I just wore shorts."  
  
"Yeah, well, not many men wear shorts in Japan, either."  Bruce took another bite of ice to try and distract himself, feeling rather ridiculous;  it wasn't as if he hadn't seen Clark naked in the baths before, not to mention clad in tight spandex that left nothing to the imagination.  But there was something about catching a glimpse of something you shouldn't, right out in public, Clark's bare and muscled thighs where anyone could see them...Bruce glared at Takata, who was smiling slightly;  if he had a friend who had a gay bar, did that mean he was gay?  Had he been enjoying the sight of that stretch of perfect skin?  His annoyance shifted abruptly into concern as Takata winced slightly and put a hand to his forehead, although he was still smiling.  "Are you all right?"  
  
Takata waved at the two of them, Clark still squirming to get his clothes in order and looking uncomfortable.  "I hope you will not take offense if I admit that dealing with the two of you is giving me a terrific headache."  
  
Bruce nodded.  "No offense taken.  Thinking in another language is very difficult."  
  
Takata's smile broadened slightly.  "And yet...I am pleased to have had the chance to get to know both of you better.  It has given me both insight and hope."  There was something like respect, almost affection in his level voice, and Bruce saw Clark glance up, startled but pleased.  Bruce opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by a whistle and bang that signaled the beginning of the fireworks.  
  
Takata and Clark kept their eyes on the skies, _ooh_ ing and _aah_ ing in wonder at the bursts of color and sound, but Bruce found himself watching Clark's face instead.  Color played across the fine-cut features, an infinite tapestry of light and shadow, shifting and beautiful.  Cascades of trailing gold in the sky lit Clark's eyelashes, gilded his cheeks;  scarlet and azure blossoms painted his face with Superman's colors.   
  
Clark turned to say something to Bruce, smiling;  the smile shifted to surprise as he caught Bruce looking at him.  
  
Bruce knew he should look away, make a joke, do _something_ other than continue to stare, but he didn't seem able to at the moment.  He kept looking, the rattling explosions of the fireworks and the roar of the crowd seeming far away and faint.  Clark's bright eyes shifted away slightly, then back, as if wondering what behind him Bruce was looking at.  Bruce shook his head slightly and tried to smile dismissively, still unable to look away.  
  
Clark looked back at him, puzzled and maybe slightly wistful, the white cloth between them like the Milky Way, like the whole sky between them.  The fireworks came to their climax, a deafening volley of explosions, etching their faces with magnesium-bright silver light.  
  
Neither of them was looking at the show.  
  
Bruce glanced away as the last round of explosions finished, breaking eye contact that suddenly felt as intimate as a touch.  When he looked back, Clark was pushing his glasses up on his nose and looking confused and a little concerned.  _You all right?_ the Kryptonian mouthed as Takata applauded with the rest of the crowd.  
  
"I'm fine," Bruce said out loud, maybe a little too loudly.  He shrugged and repeated,  "I'm fine.  Just...the fireworks, the noise was disorienting."  
  
Clark frowned, but didn't press the issue as the three men rose from the blanket and started to move with the crowd to the park exits.  There was a chirping noise, and Takata pulled a cell phone from a cloth bag at his side, talking into it quietly.  He shut it and smiled at the other two.  
  
"You may be in luck tonight.  That was the owner of _Excelsior_ , the superhero cafe I told you about.  He says you are welcome to come tonight and see what information you can gather about Jade Warrior.  There is, however, one small favor he requests from you in return."  He continued at the two mens' quizzical looks, "One of his 'waiters' had to cancel tonight, and he would like to ask one of you to cover for him.  After all, it would be a good chance to talk to the staff as well;  they may know even more."  
  
Clark felt a deep sense of unease.  "We don't speak much Japanese," he said warily.  
  
"No worries," Takata said cheerfully.  "Most of his staff are foreigners anyway.  Who would believe a Japanese Flash, after all?  So, one of you can check with the customers, one of you can talk with the staff.  It works out very conveniently, does it not?"  
  
The gnawing sense of unease did not go away.  "What role would it be?"  
  
Takata smiled serenely.  "His Superman has called in sick.  I told him both of you had the right coloring and could probably cover for him."  He looked at Clark.  "Do you think you could play Superman for a night?"  
  
Clark didn't have to feign astonishment.  "Me?  Oh gosh, I don't think--"  
  
"--He'd love to," cut in Bruce smoothly.  "Come on, Clark, it's a once-in-a-lifetime chance, isn't it?"  He continued meaningfully, "You'd really like to get some leads on Jade Warrior, right?"  
  
Clark closed his mouth after a long moment.  "Sure," he gritted at last, "Why not?"  
  
Takata nodded and handed each of them a business card with a map to the superhero cafe on it.  "It may well be a once-in-a-lifetime chance," he said.  "After all, tonight is Tanabata, a celebration of rare opportunities.  And the night is still young."  
  
The Japanese man strode off into the night after saying goodbye, leave Clark glaring at Bruce.  "Thanks.  Thanks a lot," he said.  
  
Bruce shrugged.  "Hey, _I'm_ not going to play Superman.  The role is tailor-made for you."  He clapped Clark briefly on the back as they headed down the winding streets together.  "And I think you'd make a _stunning_  
Superman."  
  
His voice was light and teasing, but Clark felt oddly warmed by it.  He looked up at the clear night sky between the buildings, at the river of stars crossing the darkness.  
  
It was Tanabata, and the night was still young.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tanabata concludes: Clark does his best to play Superman; Bruce does his best not to jump him. Neither of them succeeds terribly well.

_Don't look up  
by yourself  
at the sky where stars meet--  
the wind from the Milky Way  
blows cold.  
\--Izumi Shikibu  
_  
< It is impossible!  Impossible! > The owner of the Excelsior Cafe waved his arms in a gesture of absolute negation.  < I don't know what Takata was thinking! Superman must be much, much taller and more muscular!  Superman is like a god!  This man will never, never do! >  He reached out and slapped Clark Kent's chest furiously.  Clark tried to stand up a little straighter and ignore Bruce Wayne, who was smirking in the corner.  < At least we can remove those ridiculous glasses! > the owner snapped, making a grab at them.  
  
Clark dodged the snatching hand.  "I'm sorry, sir, I can't see well enough without them.  I'll spill drinks on the customers!"  
  
< A nearsighted Superman!  Impossible! >  The owner switched into English and pointed at Bruce.  "Use him instead!  He look much more like Superman!"  Bruce demurred hastily, protesting that Clark really was better for the job, and the manager made a sound like an agonized walrus.  
  
< Sir, we have no other option for the night.  He's too big for the smaller version with the fake abs, so we'll just have to make do, > noted a subordinate, pulling a blue-and-red costume off a rack and holding it up to Clark's frame.  < And Takata was quite clear that he wanted us to offer him the job. >   
  
The owner's shoulders slumped in defeat.  < It cannot be helped.  But I shall be a laughingstock, I know it! >  He jabbed an angry finger at Clark.  "You!  Be more Superman!"  
  
Clark felt rather paralyzed by the command.  "I'll...try," he managed.  Bruce turned to examine a Batman costume critically, his back to Clark, his shoulders shaking very slightly.  
  
"You serve drinks!  You let people talk to you!  You make them happy to be served by strong, handsome Superman!"  The owner rolled his eyes at the expression on his newest employee's face.  < Hopeless.  Hopeless! > he groaned, and stalked out.  
  
The man holding the costume pulled a wry face and handed the pile of cloth to Clark.  "Shift starts in ten minutes," he said as he left.  
  
"The Batman one isn't a terrible imitation," Bruce noted cheerfully, fingering a swath of black silk.  "It's cut to, er, accentuate the codpiece a little much, but the fabric is pretty high-quality."  
  
"Do you mind?" Clark asked as Bruce made no move to leave the supply room.  
  
"Not at all," Bruce said, picking a Green Lantern outfit off the rack and holding it against himself.  "Do you think this brings out my eyes?"  
  
"I meant, shouldn't you be out there chatting up the rest of the customers?  I could use some privacy."  Bruce hesitated just an instant, and Clark felt a confused mix of desire and embarrassment until the other man shrugged and went to the door, dropping a final smirk behind him as he left.  
  
Alone, Clark took off his civilian clothes and put them--and the real Superman costume hidden inside them--in a cubbyhole, then slipped into the fake uniform.  The fabric was coarse and flimsy compared to the real thing, and it didn't fit anywhere near as well.  Their regular "Superman" must be a body-builder.  He tried to tell himself that was a good thing:  he wouldn't want to look _too_ comfortable in the costume, after all.  But part of his mind just didn't want to go out in public wearing a costume that bagged at the knees and was too long in the arms.  _Not in front of Bruce,_ he admitted ruefully.  He sighed at his reflection in the mirror as he arranged his hair to be close--but not too close--to the correct style, leaving his shoulders slumped just enough to obscure a little of his physique.  _Be more Superman.  
  
_ He left the supply closet and went to work.  The main room of the cafe was done in garish primary colors, each table a cheerful yellow, blue, or red, with an occasional black set thrown in to accentuate the rest.  The customers were mostly middle-aged men in business suits, although some were dressed in fairly convincing replicas of superhero costumes, including a man dressed as Batman who had nearly the right build for it, although his jaw was all wrong.  Some of the men were ogling the staff openly, others were sweaty and uncomfortable, their eyes darting.  Clark couldn't help but empathize with the nervous ones and tried to be nicer to them, smiling as he handed them their coffee and murmuring a few friendly words in a voice that was somewhere between Clark's voice and Superman's.  It seemed to help;  their postures became less tense and a few of them met his eyes and almost smiled.  He supposed it could look almost like flirting, but he just felt badly for them and wished they could relax a little...  
  
Bruce was seated at one of Clark's tables.  Of course he was.  Clark kept his voice as even as possible as he asked the requisite, "May I take your order, master?"  
  
Bruce's eyes were dark with laughter.  Clark forced himself to meet them directly for a moment, then dropped them demurely as he was supposed to.  "Coffee.  Black."  
  
Clark got the coffee and returned as Bruce was talking with another customer about Jade Warrior.  As he placed the coffee on the table, Clark let his fingers brush very lightly across Bruce's--the only contact the staff was allowed the regular-paying customers.  Gripped by a perverse impulse, a desire to savor the only chance he might ever get to flirt openly with Bruce Wayne, Clark whispered huskily, "Your coffee, my master."  
  
Slate-blue eyes widened slightly at Clark's use of the possessive, but Bruce merely smiled.  "Thank you," he said, turning back to his conversation.  
  
Clark returned to his tables, but that brief contact with Bruce's hand had flustered him more than a knock-down fight with Darkseid.  He got two orders in a row wrong and had to apologize profusely to the customers, bowing low;  they seemed to enjoy his discomfiture much more than they should.      
  
The fake Batman was also at one of his tables.  Of course he was.  "May I take your order, master?"  
  
The dark figure smiled lazily.  The smile was all wrong, of course, but that didn't seem to affect the man's self-confidence as he took a moment to examine his server from head to toe.  "Hot lemon tea," the man said in fairly good English.  Then he reached out and encircled Clark's wrist with a gloved hand.  "You're not my usual Superman," he said.  
  
Clark resisted the temptation to easily shake off the fingers that tightened on his wrist enough to be uncomfortable to a human.  "Master, you're not allowed to touch me," he said softly.  
  
The smile broadened.  "I'm special customer.  Always pay extra for my Superman."  The false Batman let go of Clark's wrist to run his hand up Clark's arm, to the elbow and slightly higher.  "You're mine."  
  
Clark stared at the man who didn't sound anything like Batman, wishing for one crazy second that he could hear those words with the _right_ voice.  He managed a smile.  "Allow me to go get your tea, master?" he asked as sweetly as possible.  
  
The hand released him.  "Shy.  I like that."  There was a brush along his thigh as he turned to go that Clark chose to assume was accidental.  
  
As he turned to another table, Clark's shoulderblades prickled and he sneaked a quick glance back over at Bruce only to find that the man was in a deep conversation with different customer...but his eyes were still locked on Clark.  He didn't even seem aware Clark was looking back at him;  his eyes seemed riveted on the flimsy knock-off costume:  the cape, the boots, everything in between them.  He took a sip of his coffee, both hands wrapped around the mug, and Clark's sharp vision caught that they were trembling very slightly.  
  
Was he annoyed at Clark's poor performance as "Superman"?  Analyzing the differences in the real and fake costumes? Or...well, anything else didn't really bear thinking of.  The room seemed awfully close all of a sudden.  Clark bobbled another order and finally decided to take one of his allowed breaks.  It would be a good chance to talk to the staff about Jade Warrior.  And to get away from Bruce's stare, which was making it surprisingly hard to think.  
  
Clark headed down the narrow corridor to the men's room and ducked in to splash some cold water on his face.  He rested his hands on the porcelain of the sink and tried not to think about the way Bruce's hands had cradled the coffee mug, interlaced fingers strong enough to break the china, trembling...  
  
As he left the restroom, the door almost collided with another person and Clark was startled to find himself face-to-face with Batman.  Not the real Batman, of course, he realized after a second in which his heartbeat skyrocketed;  the customer.  "Excuse me," he murmured and started to move past the other man, only to find his way barred by a black-clad arm.    
  
"You forget to call me master," the faux-Batman said.  
  
Clark ducked his head, anxious to get out of the narrow corridor.  "Excuse me, master," he said.  
  
The arm didn't move out of the way.  Clark heard a rustle of cape and felt the other hand come to rest firmly on his back, the cowled face very close to his.  "I should be getting back to my job," Clark said.  
  
"I thought this is your job," said Batman silkily, his hand sliding down the small of Clark's back, not as strong as Bruce's, of course not, but very sure of itself, very certain.  The other man's face was too close now and Clark closed his eyes, smelling leather and hearing silk, and felt lips graze his neck, the warm leather of the cowl against his cheek, the hand moving lower now, curving, intimate.  Not Bruce, not Batman, but it was probably as close as he'd ever get--this was how it might feel, to rest your face against black leather, it might feel this way to have Bruce's hand on your ass.  The thought made his knees feel weak, and the other man used the moment to pivot him against the wall, slip his hand around to the front of Clark's costume and brush against the crotch, strong fingers exploring the erection hardening there unbidden.  Clark heard a husky chuckle in his ears and it was close enough, close enough for just a moment as the vision leaned in and kissed him.  
  
Clark leaned into the kiss as if fervor could make it real, as if this was the only kiss he'd ever get that mattered.  He felt fingers at his waistline, slipping in between the gaps in the fabric, sliding downward, and was paralyzed between overwhelming lust for the fantasy he'd created and the knowledge that he didn't want the reality.  
  
"What the _hell_ do you think you're doing?" barked a voice at the end of the corridor.

* * *

  
Bruce had been sadistically delighted at first to see Clark struggling to be Superman-enough and not-Superman at the same time.  He had to admit Clark was very good at it.  He was also, it dawned on Bruce, very good at being friendly with the clientele.  A sweet smile as he gave them their drinks, just the slightest brush of fingers against theirs as he set their mugs down--he was very skilled at making the nervous patrons relax and be at ease.  
  
Altogether too skilled, Bruce couldn't help thinking.  It made him uncomfortable to see Clark doing something so very close to flirting with other men.  He felt a confused desire to charge over to the other tables and demand they stop looking at Superman like that, like he was theirs to look at for the price of a cup of coffee.  
  
When Clark called him "my master," Bruce would have laughed, but he was overcome by a rush of lust so unexpected that all he could do was wait out the riptide of sensation, covering up his reaction by finally focusing on getting some information about Jade Warrior.  It didn't seem to be the "master" as much as the "my" that made the difference, he thought confusedly;  he suspected he would have had the same reaction if Clark had called him "my dear" or "my lover."  Not that those were particularly more likely.  
  
"My master" had a rather dizzying ring to it, though, he had to admit, realizing that he was still watching Clark, the way the cheap fabric hid his beautiful legs, the way it obscured his muscles.  He'd have to have a talk with the Kryptonian later about playing at being gay just to pull Bruce's leg; that didn't seem fair, somehow.    
  
Across the room, the fake Batman closed his hand around Clark's wrist, and hot coffee slopped over the edge of Bruce's mug, almost burning his fingers.  He was halfway out of the chair before he stopped himself and sat down again.  As if Clark needed his protection from some random creep!  Bruce watched Clark disentangle himself from the grip, watched the way the impostor slid a hand down the blue fabric as Clark left.  Bruce's fingers ached where the coffee had scalded them.  Black fingers on blue cloth.  The look on Clark's face when Batman had said "You're mine":  flustered and dazed, almost lustful.  The man was a _damn_ fine actor.  Bruce took a steadying sip of coffee and tried to listen to the customer next to him excitedly explaining that the Jade Warrior could become intangible if he needed to, he had seen it!  But he couldn't stop watching Clark moving between the tables, the superficial clumsiness cloaking the unconscious grace underneath.    
  
Nothing could ever hide that grace completely from Bruce's eyes, however.  
  
Clark messed up another order and ran a hand through his hair, clearly disgusted with himself.  Bruce watched him explain to the manager he was taking his break and make his way to the corridor to the restroom.  With Clark gone, Bruce found he could focus much better on the conversation--at least, until the fake Batman stood up a few moments later and went in the same direction as Clark.  
  
A fair amount of time passed, in which Bruce's conversational partner became aware the American wasn't paying any attention to him at all.  He stopped talking and contented himself with ogling the Flash's ass.  For his part, Bruce felt more uncomfortable as every moment passed--he knew he didn't need to be looking out for Clark, but he couldn't shake the discomfort chewing at him.  Maybe he should use the restroom.  Just to wash his hands, which seemed rather sweaty.  He stood up and made his way after Clark and Batman.  
  
He wasn't sure what he had been worried he'd find as he rounded the corner, but it certainly hadn't been Clark in a passionate embrace with a man dressed like him.  Bruce stopped cold, shock and confused lust warring within him as he watched Clark pull the other man closer by the cape, fists bunched in the black fabric like a lifeline.  The Kryptonian had his eyes tightly closed and was mumbling something against the man's mouth, over and over.  Bruce recognized the sound of his own name, blurred as it was, and the second shock rang through him like great bell, the resonances felt deep in his body, desire and want impossible to ignore.    
  
He couldn't seem to move at first, watching his double's hands roam down Clark's frame, watching Clark shuddering against him, and then suddenly Batman swung Clark against the wall, where he leaned gasping, his eyes still closed, and the dark fingers were parting Clark's clothing, slipping in to caress--Bruce jumped forward.  
  
"What the _hell_ do you think you're doing?"  
  


* * *

  
The desired/unwelcome touch halted and Clark's eyes sprang open to see Bruce glowering at the end of the corridor.  He had apparently reached the limit of the mortification his brain was able to process, because he felt only numbness as Bruce stalked down the hall and physically wrenched the fake Batman away from him.  "This is sexual harassment!" Bruce growled.  
  
The other man flashed back at him, "I'm special customer!  Pay extra for access to Superman!"  
  
"Not this one!"  Bruce reached out, his eyes still locked on his doppleganger's, and grabbed Clark's arm, shaking him very slightly.  "This one didn't agree.  He doesn't want your attention," he barked, then stopped abruptly and said to Clark, "You don't, do you?"  
  
"No," Clark said shakily.  Rattled past his ability to dissemble entirely, he added, "Not _him,"_ and felt Bruce's hand tighten on his arm.  
  
"I suggest you leave this man alone or I'll make things difficult for you," said Bruce.  The faux-Batman paused, trying to figure out if that was an immediate physical threat, sizing up the man in front of him.  Eventually he decided retreat might be the best option and skulked down the corridor away from them, cape swirling.  
  
 ****

* * *

**  
**Bruce watched him stalk off, feeling Clark's arm warm and solid underneath his hand, hearing Clark's breathing, fast and ragged.  Clark started to say something, but Bruce cut him off.  "No."  
  
A few feet down the corridor was the door to the changing room.  Bruce tugged Clark with him and opened the door to find the room empty.  He pushed Clark in gently and closed the door, then found a chair to bar it.  Clark watched him, his eyes wary and nervous.  As Bruce walked up to him, he backed away until he collided with a rolling rack of costumes;  bright primary-colored cloth tumbled to the floor as the rack jarred against the wall.  "Bruce?"  
  
Bruce was examining the shoddy Superman costume Clark was wearing.  Unlike the real thing, this wasn't indestructable.  It was so flimsy, in fact, that a few well-placed tugs would probably rip the shirt wide open.  
  
Bruce proceeded to do so.  
  


* * *

  
Clark's knees gave out almost entirely as Bruce's hands came firmly to rest against his bare chest, stroking across him as Bruce buried his face at the junction of Clark's neck and shoulder, kissing and biting and sucking.  The clothing rack behind him rattled wildly as he supported himself against it.  Bruce's hands skated over his abdomen, pausing to caress every contour, and Clark groaned as Bruce covered his collarbone with kisses and bites.  He had passed out with the shame and was dreaming now, he must be--  
  
Bruce's hands had found a seam on his pants and were busily ripping it as well, the blue cloth giving way.  Clark felt like his sanity was doing the same.  Stong hands reached their eventual goal and wrapped around his cock, cool against the unbearable heat, sliding along the skin lightly, and then harder, urgently.  Clark had already been wet with pre-cum, and soon Bruce's hand was slippery with it, the fingers sure and certain.  Clark couldn't have possibly imagined this, it was too good, but if it wasn't a dream, Bruce must be mocking him, this must be a joke...  
  
Even as he thought it, he realized Bruce was pressing up against him fervently, thrusting into Clark's hip as if he couldn't help himself, and Clark could feel the hardness straining against him, could hear the muffled groans Bruce was making against his shoulder.  He gasped and Bruce's hand tightened on him and he pushed into the grip, feeling the taut heat building impossibly, he was so close already, he'd wanted it for so long...Bruce's thumb rubbed along the head of his cock and Clark gasped something, he wasn't even sure what, but Bruce made a sound between laughing and sobbing against his neck and bit harder, his hand shaking, his hips grinding against Clark's.  
  
Clark tried to keep from coming, he didn't want the moment to ever end, didn't ever want to stop feeling Bruce against him, his breath hot on Clark's skin, his hand wet and perfect, bringing him to the moment and past it;  Clark bit his lip and delayed with all his will.  But then Bruce suddenly made a sharp, broken sound and tensed against him, trembling.  He was-- _Clark_ had made him--and Clark's will was shattered and the world was shattered with it, and the only fragments that mattered for a moment were the ones with Bruce and himself in them.  
  
He reassembled the world bit by bit to find himself sprawled on top of a pile of superhero costumes, Bruce half-collapsed on top of him.  Bruce's face was still pressed tightly against his neck, his breathing ragged. "That was..." Bruce said shakily, "That was..."

"A mistake," Clark finished hastily, piecing together his will as best he could.  "A mistake," he repeated firmly.

Bruce made a small sound against Clark's shoulder.  Then he said, "Yes.  A mistake."  More loudly, he continued, "You were role playing and got carried away--"

"--you came across it and got carried away--"

"--we both got a little carried away, but--"

"--it won't happen again," they concluded in unison.

"Right," asserted Clark.  Bruce's hand was still wrapped around him, sticky and warm, and Clark managed not to make a desolate sound as the other man disentangled himself.

"It was a fluke.  Don't worry, I know," muttered Bruce, wiping his hand on a nearby towel, resisting the temptation to bring it to his lips, however briefly.  "Sorry about the costume."

"I can fix it."

Bruce nodded, not meeting Clark's eyes.  "I'm going to go to the restroom and...clean up a little."

"I'd better finish up my shift."  Clark was righting the overturned rack and putting costumes back on it.

"I think I've gotten all the information I can.  I'll probably head back to the dojo for the night."

"Okay," Clark said. "I'll run into you later."

"Sure."  The door closed.

* * *

A sewing kit in a locker and some super-speed mending patched the torn costume up to a usable level.  Clark sleepwalked through the rest of his shift, dropping coffee in front of customers and smiling shyly at them, calling them "master," his mind elsewhere.

At the end of his shift, he had to go back into the changing room again.  The other staff changed quickly and efficiently while Clark stalled, not wanting to show his body to anyone.  Anyone else.  Ever again.  Once the room was empty, he changed quickly into the yukata he had arrived in.  He was tying the sash when the cafe manager came in.  "You did a good job," the owner said gruffly.  "Made customers very happy.  Earned your pay."  He pulled out his wallet and started to peel off some bills.

"I don't need to get paid," Clark said.  "Only..." He paused.  "May I have this instead?"

"That?"  The owner shrugged.  "Not worth much.  You can have it.  Why you want?"

"Sentimental value," Clark said, placing the ripped and patched Superman costume carefully in a paper bag.

* * *

The summer air was hot and humid on Bruce Wayne's face as he got out of the taxi.  He sat down on the steps of the dojo, flipped open his cell phone and chose the first number on the list without really seeing it.

They hadn't even kissed, realized belatedly as the phone rang.  His one chance and he hadn't even kissed him.  He heard himself groan as if in pain and cut it off as the line picked up.

Dick's voice, warm and cheerful as a sunrise.  "Bruce!  How's Japan?"

"Hot," Bruce said, looking up at the sky.

"How's Clark?"

Bruce resisted the impulse to repeat himself.  "He's doing well.  I think we're...making some progress."

"Great!  Will I get to see him when you guys come back?  It's been a while."

"I don't...think he'll be coming by."

Dick's disappointment crackled over the phone.  "Oh.  Did you two...have a fight or something?"

"No. It's not that.  It's just probably better if we stick to...work-related things from now on."  There was a long and pained pause on the other end, and Bruce tried to shift the topic.  "How's Alfred doing?"

The boy chattered about Alfred's latest plan to repave the driveway, but Bruce could tell he was worried. He couldn't seem to come up with anything reassuring to say.

After he hung up the phone, Bruce looked at his watch:  one o'clock.  He stared upward;  the sky was clouding over. Tanabata was over.  The lovers had met their one time, and the bridge of stars was gone again.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A long and uncomfortable day ends in fire, blood, resolutions and revelations.

_I have always known  
That at last I would   
Take this road, but yesterday  
I did not know that it would be today.  
\--Narihira_

Superman hovered over the skyline of Hiroshima, watching as the sun set over the city.  It had been a long day.  Bruce had been asleep by the time he had gotten back from the superhero cafe, and was gone by the time he woke up in the morning.  Clark had decided today might be a good time to go back to Metropolis for a few hours and make an appearance.

He took a brief detour to leave a brown paper bag filled with red and blue cloth at the Fortress of Solitude.

He had patrolled the Metropolis night in a foggy drizzle, stopping robberies and muggings in a daze, his mind still trying to process the feel of Bruce's hand on him, the wetness of his lips against Clark's bare shoulder, mouthing words Clark hadn't been able to decipher.  He had wanted it so much, so much-- _enough to throw away your working relationship with Batman?_  a voice in him asked.  

Maybe.  Maybe even that.  But he wouldn't have to worry about ruining their working relationship, thank goodness.  Bruce hadn't been thinking, Clark hadn't been thinking, but the League was too important to jeopardize.

It would never happen again.

Clark intercepted bullets from a tommygun and tried not to look at how completely empty that reassurance made him feel.

As the sky began to lighten over Metropolis, Clark decided he'd better head back.  Sunrise gave way to sunset in an instant, and the glass of Metropolis became the concrete of Hiroshima.  Half-reluctantly, half-eagerly, Superman went looking for either Bruce Wayne or Batman.  


* * *

  
At the dojo, Tatsu Yamashiro received an odd text message.   _Please pick me up at the city library.  Bruce._   Puzzled, she wandered into the kitchen where Maseo was chopping carrots for curry.  < Dear, our guest needs a ride back.  I should only be a few minutes. >

Maseo paused long enough to give her a kiss.  < Don't be too late for dinner. >

< And miss your curry?  Never, > she countered, smiling.  She checked to make sure the twins were asleep in their crib and headed to her car.

She looked back one more time, unsure why.  The dojo was quiet and solid, the last rays of the setting sun glancing scarlet off the roof.

Tatsu got in her car and drove off to meet her guest.

* * *

**  
**Batman was proving even more elusive than usual, Superman thought.  Or maybe he was the one being elusive.  He would catch a glimpse of black cape reflected in a window and make his way toward it, only to veer off at the last second, unsure what he would say to the vigilante when he encountered him.

Superman sailed through the concrete canyons of Hiroshima, absent-mindedly putting on more and more speed, becoming a red-and-blue blur...until the moment Jade Warrior appeared in front of him out of nowhere and neatly clotheslined him.

Superman found himself flying head-over-heels, coming to a stop a few blocks away, more embarrassed than hurt.  < What the hell are you doing? > he fumed at the impassive figure floating in midair.

The figure cocked its glittering head at him.  "You need to think less," it said in perfect English, a slight foreign cadence to its deep resonance.

Superman felt a surge of irritation--the being had finally broken its silence to lecture him, and he wasn't in the mood to be lectured.  "I'm not generally accused of being a deep thinker," he countered harshly, his posture ready for a fight.

"Kal."  Batman landed on a building near them, his eyes on the emerald figure floating in the sky.  "He speaks English, I see."

"I have been watching the two of you seek and avoid each other in turn for over an hour," noted the warrior, and Clark struggled not to look at Batman, to keep his face impassive.  "I have found your circumlocutions frustrating, if rather amusing."

"That's beside the point," Batman said brusquely.  

"We're tired of playing games with you," Superman said.  "We've invited you to the League.  Yes or no?  Give us a straight answer and we'll leave you alone."

Jade Warrior seemed about to answer when suddenly he put a hand to his head as if in pain.  "Evil."  His voice was distant and ominous.  "I sense great evil somewhere, wakening."  Then he pointed to the north, where a column of smoke was rising into the sky, obscuring the first stars.

Superman focused:  a red blaze in the distance.  "My God, it's the dojo," he blurted.

"Get us there fast," said Batman, and Superman grabbed him and flew.

* * *

  
Maseo Yamashiro heard the crash of glass and bolted from the kitchen, cleaver in hand, to find his brother in the hallway, a katana in each hand.  < You made a mistake, little brother, > Takeo said with a ghastly smile.  < The wards on the dojo prevented anyone uninvited from ever leaving with the swords.  But  _you_  invited me in. >  He tossed the holy sword across the polished wood floor to Maseo, unsheathing the cursed Muramasa blade.  < Once you're dead I'll have Tatsu, like I should have. >

Maseo picked up the sword slowly.  Flame was starting to lick along the walls, smoke starting to fill the hall.   _The children..._ < You're crazy, > he said flatly. 

Takeo laughed like it was an answer and lunged at him.

* * *

  
Superman and Batman arrived to find flames leaping across the roof of the dojo and a gang of yakuza circled outside the building.  Superman dropped Batman into the crowd and turned to the building--to find his way barred by a bare-chested yakuza, a tiger tattoo coiled across his flesh.  "I think not,  _gaijin,"_ barked the gangster...and the tiger leaped from his chest at Superman, snarling.

 _Magic,_  Superman thought like a curse as the tiger pinned him to the ground, vermilion fangs snapping at his throat, viridian claws seeking his heart.  Out of the corner of his eye he could see Batman in a dark whirl of motion, vastly outnumbered, keeping his attackers at bay in a stalemate.  He strained to keep the magical jaws from closing on his throat, struggled to move.

A wail pierced the night, carrying over the vicious crackle of flame, as Tatsu's car skidded to a stop in front of the dojo and the woman bolted from it.  As she ran toward the door, a figure emerged from the crackling fire:  Takeo, carrying two swords, one bloody.  He was laughing wildly as he tossed the holy sword down as if it burned him.  His wild cackle was louder than the flames.  < It's true!  The legends of the sword are true! I can feel them now! > Tatsu tried to lunge past him to the house, but he blocked the door;  she snatched up the holy katana and dropped into an attack stance.  < Dear one, he was never worthy of you.  And now I've removed all your distractions.  Put down your sword-- > He parried a vicious attack in place of an answer.  < Very well, > he said calmly.  < I shall have you one way or the other, Tatsu.  Forever. >

Batman, Superman, and Tatsu were all locked in combat as the blaze mounted higher.  The ringing of steel was nearly the only sound;  everyone fought in deadly silence, the burning house limning everyone's faces in eerie crimson.  Suddenly Clark became aware of a figure next to him:  Jade Warrior, struggling to dislodge the summoned tiger.

"Don't help me!  The house!  Get into the house!"  Superman shoved the tiger's jaws another inch away.  "There are still people there!"

Jade Warrior turned to look at the inferno, turned back to Superman.  "I...cannot," he said, his voice hollow.

"The  _hell_  you can't!  Are you a hero or not?"  Clark raged.  "Her husband and her children are in there!  You have to save them!"

Jade Warrior paused a long moment, then turned and ran  _through_  Takeo and Tatsu, his body phasing out for an instant, and into the burning house.

The tiger's fangs closed on Clark's hand and he felt blood dripping into his face as he tried to push it further away.  Under the roar of fire, he could hear Tatsu's hoarse breathing and the maniacal chuckle pouring from Takeo like water.

Takeo's sword was stronger, but Tatsu was a better fighter and her blows were fueled by a desperate desire to get to her family.  A moment's weakness, a gap in the yakuza's defense, and the cursed sword went flying in the air to embed itself in the ground next to Tatsu, quivering.  The woman pulled it from the ground, her hand closing on the hilt--and her mouth suddenly stretched in a silent scream as she sagged to her knees.  Takeo leaped toward her, but her sword arm moved in a quick, almost involuntary motion, slicing at him.  It aimed for his throat, but with a struggle Tatsu turned the blade so the hilt struck his head, sending him tumbling to the ground.  < I will not further sully this sword with your soul, > she gasped, before breaking into sobs, bent over the blade as if over a corpse.

The yakuza, seeing their leader defeated, backed away and melted into the shadows abruptly, although batarangs managed to fell a few as they fled.  The tiger vanished and Superman surged up with a curse just as a figure emerged from the burning house.

It was Jade Warrior, carrying the body of Maseo Yamashiro.  The emerald-armored figure was staggering, his form dissolving and blurring into something else...several other things.  It was making small keening sounds of agony as its flesh melted, raising long fingers to its face.  For a moment, the eyes of Yuchiro Takata stared out at them, and then the figure was laying down the body, morphing and shifting as he did into something not at all human.  A long, sloping skull, red eyes, eerily long fingers--the being limped painfully to Tatsu's side.  < My apologies, > it rasped, its voice aching and and agonized.  < I could not find...the children... >

Tatsu looked up at him;  as she did, the dojo behind her collapsed with a hollow roar and the being flinched, then staggered into the brush and disappeared, leaving absolutely no sound in its wake.

Police sirens wailed in the distance.  Tatsu Yamashiro looked up at the two superheroes, her eyes dry and red as the flames.  "I can hear them, trapped in the sword.  The souls of my husband and children."  She cradled the blade against her body and rocked back and forth, staring up at the sky.  "He had already killed them.  My children.  I can hear them weeping."

Clark didn't know what to say to her.

Batman walked up to the huddled woman and reached out to take the sword from her, but she clutched it tighter, her eyes blazing.  "Mine now," she said hoarsely.  Batman's face was impassive, and the woman surged to her feet, her voice as tight as a bowstring and as ready to snap.  "What?"

< The sword is evil, > said Batman.  

< No, > she responded.  < The sword is cursed.  But it contains good within it.  I will use it for good.  >  She leveled the sword between them.  < I will not abandon the souls of my family.  I tell you this is the only way I can have peace.  Do you understand?  Can you understand? >

Clark knew that by now, he shouldn't be surprised at the gentle way the black hands rested on the woman's shoulders.  < Tatsu.  You will need to seek further training.  When you are done... >  He paused.  < I know a CEO in Kyoto who might need a bodyguard. >

The woman squared her shoulders, the fire turning her into a red silhouette.  < I shall consider your offer.  Thank you. >  She raised her head.  

< Tatsu Yamashiro is also bound to this sword forever.  From this day, I shall be called Katana. >  


* * *

  
As the firefighters, police and press closed in on the dojo, Superman and Batman slipped away.  They didn't need to debate where to go;  in a moment Hiroshima Peace Park lay silent in the moonlight before them.

Near the melted dome they found Yuchiro Takata, composed and calm in his business suit.  "Who are you?" said Batman.

Takata spread his hands;  in a moment the hunched inhuman form with the glowing red eyes stood before them.

Batman put out an arm to push Clark behind him...which collided with Superman's hand as Clark tried to shield Batman behind him.  There was an awkward moment of jostling and the being raised its hands in a gesture of surrender laced with definite amusement.  "Heh," it said dryly.  "Forgive me the deception."

"Why not tell us the truth from the start?"  said Superman.

A slender hand gestured at the ruined dome.  "Trusting humans--or those raised as humans--does not come easily to me.  They are a fascinating race that I have come to love.  But not to trust."

"Where are you from?  Who are you really?" Batman's voice was implacable, and the alien sighed, its hunched shoulders drooping.

"I am from Mars."

"There's no life on Mars."

"Indeed."  The dry voice was very tired.  "Not anymore.  I am the last Martian."  Scarlet eyes gleamed ironically at Clark.  "We have some things in common."

Superman stepped forward, seeing in his mind the way the Martian had apologized to Tatsu, the way it had steeled itself to plunge into the fire that had nearly destroyed it.  "What should we call you when you join the League?" he asked firmly, ignoring Batman's huffing noise beside him.

For a long moment the long jade head stayed tilted at him, then narrow lips stretched in a smile.  "My true name is J'onn J'onzz," he said, the sibilants whistling and alien, "But on Mars I held the title of Manhunter."

Batman made a harsh noise in his throat.  "The Martian Manhunter, huh?  Does he look at the same as Jade Warrior?" and J'onn's smile widened further.

"I was thinking more along these lines."  The figure shifted like smoke on the wind and reformed. 

* * *

**  
**The sun was starting to rise over the smoldering ruins of the dojo when the police finished questioning Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent, who had arrived from a late night out to find their lodgings destroyed.

Bruce flipped his cell phone closed and turned to Clark.  "I've made us tickets for two flights back today.  You've got a direct flight to Metropolis leaving in about six hours.  Mine leaves in just a couple.  I've called you a taxi, too."

"Well," said Clark wearily.  "At least I have no luggage to check through."  He brushed a hand through sooty hair and Bruce reached out to catch it, frowning at the blood streaks on it.  

"That tiger bit you," he said flatly, turning Clark's hand over and examining it very carefully.

"Magic," Clark said.  "I'll be fine."

"You should wash it," Bruce noted, studying the lines in its palms.

There was a long moment while they stood there, Bruce holding Clark's hand with nearly infinite gentleness.  "I'm sorry," Bruce said.

Clark resisted the urge to pull his hand away.  He didn't want it to look like he could barely stand the light touch without pulling the other man to him... "Nothing to apologize for."  Bruce let go of his hand first and Clark stood, proud of his restraint, his hand aching.

"Would you like to come for dinner after we land?"  Bruce spoke as if the words were dragged from him, agonizingly, deliberately casual.

Clark shook his head and smiled slightly.  "Maybe not this time.  Give Dick my regrets."

Bruce shrugged.  "Just as well.  Lots of catching up to do."

"Me too."

Bruce nodded absently.  "Well.  Thanks for all your help."

"It was my pleasure."

Bruce's eyes flickered at something in Clark's voice, but he didn't follow up.  "I'll see you at the League's first meeting."  He paused.  "The League is a good thing, Clark."

Clark blinked.  "Thank you."

A twitch at the corner of Bruce's mouth.  "We can do this," he said, and turned and left, walking toward a taxi that appeared like magic.

Clark wasn't sure what "this" was, if Bruce had meant bringing the League together or something else.  

Feeling the imprint of Bruce's fingers on his hand, five points of indelible heat and light, he remained unsure the other man was right.

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An uninvited visitor at the Manor leads to the inevitable, as well as the inevitable re-negotiations after. Robin starts to put some pieces together, as does a less friendly person.

_Even if I now saw you  
only once,  
I would long for you  
through worlds,  
worlds.  
\--Izumi Shikibu  
_  
Batman closed a window on the computer--the report filed by Arkham employees to the police every week on patient status--and stifled a sigh, pulling off his cowl and rubbing his eyes.  
  
"Aren't you done yet?  You've been working hard all night since you got home, it feels like you should be caught up.  You weren't even gone for a week, and it was really quiet."  The voice came from behind him, where Robin was absent-mindedly performing handsprings and cartwheels along the edge of one of the cave's drop-offs.  Bruce had told him he could practice just as well on a flat, safe surface, but Dick insisted it "dulled his edge."  
  
"One never gets 'caught up' on the war against crime, Robin," Batman said quellingly, but Robin just laughed.  A quick, turning leap and he was balanced on the back of Batman's chair;  Bruce shifted his weight to compensate and Robin's hands danced in the air for balance.  
  
"Are you worried about Clark?"  the boy asked.  "Why didn't he come visit?"  
  
"We're both very busy men," Bruce said.  
  
"Clark's never been too busy for his friends before," Robin muttered, and Bruce felt a pang at the sadness in his voice.   
  
"He really wanted to come see you," he said,  _feeling_  the boy's smile in his posture and small leap that jarred the chair.  "You'll always be his friend.  But maybe he just needed some time apart from Batman.  It's not like I'm very good company," he added, hating the thread of self-pity in his voice, too tired to keep it out.  
  
A quick flip and Robin was balancing on his hands on the back of the chair.  His cape streamed down like sunlight across the chair.  "Is it because you're gay?"  
  
Bruce didn't betray his surprise with an effort;  the topic of his sexuality had never really come up.  The boy was a sharp study.  He listened for disgust or repulsion in the echoes of Dick's question and heard only curiosity and concern.  Robin spoke again into the silence:  " _I_  don't mind, you know.  It's not a big deal.  I can't believe it would be to Superman, either.  No way."  
  
Bruce collected his thoughts.  "No, I don't think it's connected to my sexuality.  Well, not exactly," he added lamely.  
  
Robin pushed off the chair and landed with a catlike  _thump_  next to it.  "Hey," he said as if a thought had just occurred to him, "How do we know Clark's not gay?  Maybe he's secretly in love with you and is staying away because he's afraid he'll show it!"  He did a quick handspring and came up grinning at Bruce.  "Man, if you fell in love with him too...that'd be  _awesome._   He could come and have dinner here all the time and we could have incredible adventures together and..." He trailed off at the look on Bruce's face.  "Bruce...are you in love with Clark?"  
  
Batman stood up abruptly.  "I think we should get some dinner or Alfred will be even more difficult to live with than usual," he said, gathering his cape around him and heading to change.  
  
Robin followed after a thoughtful pause.

* * *

  
Superman soared above the night sky of Metropolis.  It was a quiet night:  just a few muggings here and there.  A quiet night.  
  
That wasn't good.  A quiet night gave him time to think.  He didn't want to think.  
  
He lifted up higher until Metropolis was a cascade of lights below him.  The air was hot and humid, even this high.  It wrapped around his body, coaxing.  
  
Clark sighed.  He had spent most of the flight back from Japan trying not to think about Bruce Wayne.  Trying not to remember how skillful his hands had been, how confident...and how that confidence and control had crumbled into lust against him.  
  
Bruce had wanted it, that was obvious.  Wanted it for just that moment, a wave of desire that had broken and passed?  A chance to debauch a virgin--and a virgin Superman at that?  
  
Well, Clark reflected ruefully, if that  _had_  been Bruce's motivation, he had failed.  Clark felt painfully...undebauched.  
  
He looked down to realize abruptly that he was over Gotham now.  When had that happened?  Well, since he was there already, he might want to make sure Wayne Manor was still standing.  You never knew...  
  
Wayne Manor was still standing, shadowed and quiet on the north outskirts of Gotham.  As Superman watched from far above, a light went off in a room on the second floor.  He drifted a little closer, resisting the temptation to use his super-hearing to catch the sound of Bruce's voice, the beat of his heart...he didn't have the right, really.   
  
And it might hurt too much.  
  
A gust of wind moved across the woods near the Manor and reached Clark in a rush of pine scent, sweet and sharp.  The gardens around the Manor were a riot of summer blossoms;  did the butler do all the gardening as well?  Clark could smell tea rose and thyme and he wondered which of those many windows Bruce was behind, if he was in the house at all...the darkened window was right in front of him now, and Clark had no real memory of getting that close.  He should be going back to Metropolis, not mooning outside the Manor like an insane combination of Romeo and Peter Pan...  
  
The light on the room in front of him snapped on without warning.  Dick Grayson stepped into the room and stopped dead at the sight of Superman hovering outside the window.  
  
Clark considered his options, rejected disappearing in a burst of superspeed, and raised a hand in a feeble wave instead.  
  
Dick threw open the window.  The smile on his face was welcoming and maybe just a bit smug.  "Clark?  Why are you outside of our library?"  
  
Clark shrugged nonchalantly.  "Checking on you.  It's been a while.  How are things as Robin?"  
  
"Checking on me," Dick echoed with a grin.  "Well," he said, leaping onto the sill, "Being Robin is fantastic!"  He spun on the sill.  "I think I can really help Bruce a lot--"  He wobbled a bit and Superman moved forward in a quick motion of concern;  the boy laughed and leaped across the gap between them, grabbing Clark's scarlet cape and hanging from the hem.  "You worry about me too much," Dick noted as he dangled and Clark spluttered, caught between annoyance and laughter.  
  
"Dick?  Who are you talking--oh."  Bruce came to the window to glare at both of them.  His hair was damp and he was wearing a burgundy dressing gown of some thick, soft fabric;  Clark's hands itched as he stared.   
  
Dick swung from Superman's cape like a Christmas ornament, chuckling.  "Just hanging with Superman, Bruce," he said cheerfully, and the older man rolled his eyes, then fixed his glare on Kal once more.  
  
"I was in the area," Superman said lamely.  
  
"You were, were you," stated Bruce.  Dick did a quick upward flip and caught hold of the crimson cape again on his way down.  Bruce opened the window a little wider.  "Well, you'd better come in.  I don't want the neighbors wondering why Superman is chatting me up outside my window."  
  
Clark started to note that Wayne Manor had no neighbors for miles, then thought better of it and headed inside, taking a moment to flip the chortling boy into a somersault and into the room.  
  
The library was lined with dark walnut bookcases.  A desk cluttered with paper was up against the far wall, and a Queen Anne-style sofa covered in brocade sat in the center of the room.  Clark stood awkwardly, feeling extremely out of place in his flashy spandex, surrounded by subdued elegance.  Being stared at by subdued elegance incarnate.  Bruce cleared his throat as the silence stretched and Dick looked at both of them.   "Yoru-sensei called to tell me that Tatsu is there.  She'll be staying there for a while to rest and...recover a little.  Also, I got an email from a 'John Jones'."  
  
"A John--is that our new friend?"  
  
A flash of smile.  "One and the same.  Jones is a detective in Colorado.  Apparently Takata is only one of his guises."  
  
"I wonder how many of the superheroes on our contact list are all the same person," Clark mused.  
  
Dick ran a hand through his hair until it stuck out at odd angles.  "I still can't believe you guys met a real live alien."  Clark raised his eyebrows, smiling, and Dick flushed.  "I mean--you know what I mean, Clark!  A  _green_  alien, a  _Martian!_   That's so cool.  Bruce says he has some really impressive powers too."  
  
Clark nodded.  "Telepathy, flight, intangibility, shape-shifting...and he packs a mean punch, too," he added ruefully.  
  
"He'll be an impressive addition to the League," Bruce said with satisfaction.  "If I didn't know it was horribly rude, I'd love to be able to do a full medical assay on him.  And just think of what we could learn from him about Martian technology..."  His face was alight with scientific joy;  framed by damp hair, it was a nearly irresistible sight.  Clark couldn't seem to look away.  
  
Dick was examining Clark's face as Bruce continued to explain possible avenues of scientific exploration;  eventually he smiled and then stretched in an elaborate yawn.  "Well, I'm pretty beat, so I'm heading off to study for a while and then bed."  He wrapped an arm around Superman in a quick hug, then did the same to Bruce.  He might have nudged Bruce in the ribs with an elbow under cover of the hug.  The door closed behind him and left the two men in the room, along with an awkward silence in his wake.  
  
"Speaking of scientific discoveries," Superman said to distract himself, "Have you reached any conclusions about the composition of the Kryptonian cloth I gave you?  Think you can replicate it?"  
  
To his surprise, a hint of a blush appeared in Bruce's face.  "Your cape, right.  I've studied it extensively--"  The hint of red deepened, "--and learned a lot, but I don't think it'll ever be replicable.  It seems...unique."  Running a hand through his hair, he moved to stand behind the sofa, putting its back between him and Superman.   
  
There was a long pause in which Clark discovered that he couldn't distract himself anymore.  
  
"I couldn't stay away," he said.  
  
Bruce took a deep breath, hands tight on the sofa back.  "We have to work together to get the League off the ground, Clark.  We can't afford to risk intimate involvement.  It complicates things."  
  
Clark took another step closer.  "I never kissed you," he repeated as if that answered everything.  He moved closer until he was on his knees on the sofa.  "And I want to kiss you."  
  
"Neither of us is in a place to be in a serious relationship, especially with each other," Bruce noted quickly, but he didn't look away from the bright eyes, now very close to his.  "It's not a good idea."  
  
Clark put his hands on top of Bruce's, very lightly.  "You want me to kiss you."  
  
Bruce didn't say anything at all as Clark brought his lips to his.  
  
It was a light, almost hesitant kiss, just a flicker of touch for a long moment.  Neither of them could be quite sure later who had deepened it--maybe both of them simultaneously--but soon it was a long and luxurious tangle of tongues and gasped breaths.  "You want me, you want me," Clark whispered into Bruce's mouth.  "You put the couch between us so I couldn't see how much you were wanting me."  
  
Bruce had gotten his hands free and had them in Clark's hair.  "Damn you, you used your x-ray vision."  
  
Clark felt lust leap even higher in him.  "I didn't need to," he said, and heard Bruce's stuttering moan as he slipped his hands under the thick maroon cloth, fingers skating over the collarbone.  "I never even got to touch you," he said.  "That wasn't fair.  I'm just...evening the score."  He slid his hands lower, brushing Bruce's skin all the way down to the sash, nudging Bruce away from the back of the couch so he could undo it.  
  
"We are not doing this again," Bruce said, as if announcing it in Batman's voice would somehow make it so.   
  
"It's not 'again,'"  Clark responded, hands busy on the knot, mouth hot on Bruce's throat,  "It's a continuation of the one and only time.  That's all.  That's--ah."  The sash came loose and Clark made a satisfied noise as his hands slipped through damp, curling hair and encountered their goal.  A blurringly quick adjustment of position and Clark was on the other side of the sofa with Bruce, turning the other man's back to the couch and going to his knees in front of him, pushing away the folds of the robe.  
  
Once there, he suffered a sudden failure of confidence:  he had no idea exactly what he was doing, how to go about this...he glanced up, half-expecting to see laughter on Bruce's face, but the other man was gripping the back of the sofa with white-knuckled hands, his face flushed, eyes closed and lips parted in anticipation.  
  
Clark had no intention of disappointing him.  
  
Trying to still his pounding heart, he took a moment to just trace gentle circles of touch on the skin of Bruce's hips, the taut muscles around his erection.  Bruce groaned and shifted his body to try and position Clark's hands more directly.  Tentatively, Clark leaned forward to press light kisses on Bruce's hipbones, trailing gradually to the base of his erection, feeling hair tickling at his face, inhaling the scent of Bruce's skin, touched with soap.   
  
More fluttering kisses, up the length of the shaft, savoring the softness of the skin, the heat.  At the head he paused and then, feeling greatly daring, drew his tongue across the top, tasting saltiness.  Bruce made a sharp noise and the back of the sofa creaked under his grip.  "Clark.  Clark.  Please--so good--please--"  
  
Bruce Wayne.  Begging for his touch.  Begging for his mouth.  
  
Clark was swamped with lust, hard, he was so hard...  Still unsure, but growing too aroused to be careful, he continued to kiss, sloppier and more enthusiastic by the moment.  Long brushes of tongue along heated flesh, Bruce's voice making shuddering noises above him, saying something about being so close, about waiting too long, about wanting too much...  
  
He finally slipped his mouth over the head of Bruce's cock, then the rest in a frenzied rush of licking and sucking.  The fabric of his costume was soft and slippery against his own erection, stimulating him almost unbearably.  His hands were on Bruce's hips as they bucked against him, his fingers splayed across Bruce's ass, feeling the muscles tighten and then tighten more.  The musky taste was more arousing than he had expected, and in a haze of desire he felt his hands tighten and knew Bruce would have the imprint of his fingers there in the morning, dark bruises Clark had put there--  
  
Bruce gasped  _"Yes,"_  as if he had read Clark's mind, and the word and the leap of mad, lustful possessiveness grabbed Clark with no warning and slammed him into orgasm.  Lost in rapture, he reveled in the hot silkiness in his mouth, dragging Bruce as close as possible, sucking and lapping and tonguing with abandon.  Bruce tensed against him, shivering, and Clark licked and drank and consumed until they were both satisfied.  
  
Bruce leaned against the back of the couch, willing his knees not to shake, as Clark settled with his back against the wall, sitting on the floor, looking up at him.  "Thank you," Clark said.  "I'm sorry if I wasn't very good."  
  
Bruce found himself speechless at the spectacle of  _Clark_  thanking  _him_  for the experience.  "You were--very good," he finally managed.  "That was fantastic."  
  
Clark's face lit as if Bruce had told him he could keep his new puppy instead of complimenting his fellatio technique.  "Really?  I'm glad."   
  
Bruce felt a sudden pang of terror;  how had he managed to end up caring so deeply for the two most innocent and open people he'd ever met?  "Clark," he said cautiously, "I understand that you're...exploring your sexuality.  You want to experiment and see what it's all like.  I understand that.  But seriously, we can't afford to be playing the horny teenagers while working together.  I mean, it just isn't feasible that we be spending League meetings planning on sneaking off to a closet where I can give you a blowjob."  Something leaped behind Clark's eyes and Bruce struggled not to imagine exactly that.  "Damn it, Clark.  I'm not going to lie and tell you I don't want you.  But you've latched onto me because I'm the first person to jump you.  You need to...get some wider experience.  Explore your options.  Find a partner more appropriate for you, someone less..."   _Gloomy, repressed, sarcastic, discouraging..._ "Less... _me_."  
  
For a moment, Clark looked like he was going to argue.  Then he lowered his gaze and sighed.  "Maybe you're right, Bruce."  He laced his hands together and stared down at them.  "But I don't know if I can bear to work with you and want you like this," he said in a very small voice.  
  
"It'll get easier," Bruce said.  
  
"I don't want it to get easier."  
  
Bruce knelt down beside Clark and put a hand on his shoulder.  Clark sighed and leaned into it.  "Get some wider experience.  I can't afford to be your first fling, Clark.  The League can't afford to have that kind of tension if you...find out you were just curious.  Date other people and find out what you really want.  Don't settle for me just because I'm the first person who can't keep his hands off you."  
  
Clark's eyes were very close to his, clear and luminous.  "And if I find out what I really want is you?"  
  
Bruce swallowed.  "Well, we'll cross that bridge...if we come to it."  The thought of Clark experimenting with other people made him feel sick and cold, but he knew that once Clark realized he had a lot of options he'd find someone that matched him better, someone warm, affectionate, kind.   
  
He just prayed that whoever Clark found to initiate him into sex was as tender and loving as the man deserved.  
  
Clark sighed again, then pulled Bruce down into a gentle kiss.  He stood up and gave Bruce a smile that hovered somewhere between wistful and confident.  "If that's what it takes to prove to you--to both us--that I'm not just grabbing the first available person, I'll do my best to date around for a while."  He walked to the window, a gust of night breeze swirling his cape around him as he opened it.  "But it's going to be difficult when you do those things that are so devastatingly sexy and seductive."  
  
"Like what?" Bruce had no idea he'd been acting seductive;  he'd have to be more careful.  
  
Clark turned on the sill, the smile tilting over into outright wicked.  "You know.  Breathing.  Existing."  
  
Bruce looked out the window into the night sky for a long time after he was gone.  
  
 ****

* * *

 **  
**In a cell in Japan, Kyodai Ken was leafing through another newspaper when he stopped at the story of a dojo in Hiroshima burning down, the murder of a family.  His eyebrow raised when he read that Superman and Batman had aided in apprehending the perpetrators.  It raised higher as he read the interviews with the two Americans who had been staying at the dojo.  
  
He nearly dropped the paper altogether when he saw the picture of the grieving widow, the hilt of the sword she was holding clearly visible.  
  
So.  Soultaker had been hiding in a humble dojo all these centuries.  Now it was in play again, growing stronger with each soul it took.  
  
A sword like that, fueled with a specific soul of immense power and purity...the wielder would be unstoppable.  
  
Kyodai Ken smiled as he began to make plans.  It would take a few months, but he was fairly sure he could bring them to fruition--and quite appropriately in the time of harvest, the time often called "Autumn" in English.  
  
He chuckled as he looked at the photograph.   
  
It seemed especially fitting that Bruce Wayne might also call it "Fall."


End file.
